THE  LONG  ROAD 


THE  BEST  NEW  BOOKS  AT  THE  LEAST  PRICES 


Each  volume  in  the  Macmillan  Libraries  sells  for  50  cents,  never  more, 
wherever  books  are  sold. 


THE    MACMILLAN   STANDARD    LIBRARY 

ADDAMS  —  The  Spirit  of  Youth  and  the  City  Streets. 

BAILEY — The  Country  Life  Movement  in  the  United  States. 

BAILEY  &  HUNN — The  Practical  Garden  Book. 

CAMPBELL — The  New  Theology. 

CLARK — The  Care  of  a  House. 

CONYNGTON  —  How  to  Help  :  A  Manual  of  Practical  Charity. 

COOLIDGE  —  The  United  States  as  a  World  Power. 

CROLY — The  Promise  of  American  Life. 

DEVINE  —  Misery  and  Its  Causes. 

EARLE — Home  Life  in  Colonial  Days. 

ELY  —  Evolution  of  Industrial  Society. 

ELY — Monopolies  and  Trusts. 

FRENCH — How  to  Grow  Vegetables. 

GOODYEAR — Renaissance  and  Modern  Art. 

HAPGOOD  —  Lincoln,  Abraham,  The  Man  of  the  People. 

HAULTAIN  —  The  Mystery  of  Golf. 

HEARN — Japan:  An  Attempt  at  Interpretation. 

HILLIS  —  The  Quest  of  Happiness. 

HILLQUIT — Socialism  in  Theory  and  Practice. 

HODGES  —  Everyman's  Religion. 

HORNE —  David  Livingstone. 

HUNTER —  Poverty. 

HUNTER — Socialists  at  Work. 

JEFFERSON  —  The  Building  of  the  Church. 

KING  —  The  Ethics  of  Jesus. 

KING — Rational  Living 

LONDON  —  The  War  of  the  Classes. 

LONDON  —  Revolution  and  Other  Essays. 

LYON  —  How  to  Keep  Bees  for  Profit. 

MCLENNAN  —  A  Manual  of  Practical  Farming. 

MABIE  —  William  Shakespeare:  Poet,  Dramatist,  and  Man. 

MAHAFFY  —  Rambles  and  Studies  in  Greece. 

MATHEWS  —  The  Church  and  the  Changing  Order. 

MATHEWS  —  The  Gospel  and  the  Modern  Man. 

PATTEN  —  The  Social  Basis  of  Religion. 

PEABODY  —  The  Approach  to  the  Social  Question. 

PIERCE  —  The  Tariff  and  the  Trusts. 

RAUSCHENBUSCH  —  Christianity  and  the  Social  Crisis. 

Rns  —  The  Making  of  an  American  Citizen. 

RilS  —  Theodore  Roosevelt,  the  Citizen. 

RYAN  —  A  Living  Wage  :  Its  Ethical  and  Economic  Aspects. 

ST.  MAUR — A  Self-supporting  Home. 

SHERMAN  —  What  is  Shakespeare  ? 

SIDGWICK  —  Home  Life  in  Germany. 

SMITH  —  The  Spirit  of  the  American  Government. 

SPARGO  —  Socialism. 


THE  BEST  NEW  BOOKS  AT  THE  LEAST  PRICES 


Each  volume  in  the  Macmillan  Libraries  sells  for  50  cents,  never  more, 
wherever  books  are  sold.  ~* 


TARBELL — History  of  Greek  Art. 
VALENTINE  —  How  to  Keep  Hens  for  Profit. 
VAN  DYKE  — The  Gospel  for  a  World  of  Sin. 
VAN  DYKE  —  The  Spirit  of  America. 
VEBLEN  —  The  Theory  of  the  Leisure  Class. 
WELLS  —  New  Worlds  for  Old. 
WHITE— The  Old  Order  Changeth. 

THE   MACMILLAN   FICTION   LIBRARY 
ALLEN  —  A  Kentucky  Cardinal. 
ALLEN  —  The  Reign  of  Law. 
ATHERTON  —  Patience  Sparhawk. 
CHILD  —  Jim  Hands. 
CRAWFORD  —  The  Heart  of  Rome. 
CRAWFORD — Fair  Margaret :  A  Portrait 
DAVIS  —  A  Friend  of  Caesar. 
DRUMMOND  —  The  Justice  of  the  King. 
ELIZABETH  AND  HER  GERMAN  GARDEN. 
GALE — Loves  of  Pelleas  and  Etarre. 
HERRICK — 'The  Common  Lot. 
LONDON  —  Adventure. 
LONDON  —  Burning  Daylight 
LOTI  —  Disenchanted. 
LUCAS  —  Mr.  Ingleside. 
MASON  —  The  Four  Feathers. 
NORRIS  —  Mother. 
OXENHAM — The  Long  Road. 
PRYOR — The  Colonel's  Story. 
REMINGTON  —  Ermine  of  the  Yellowstone. 
ROBERTS  —  Kings  in  Exile. 
ROBINS  —  The  Convert. 
ROBINS  —  A  Dark  Lantern. 
WARD  —  David  Grieve. 
WELLS  —  The  Wheels  of  Chance. 

THE    MACMILLAN  JUVENILE   LIBRARY 
ALTSHELER  —  The  Horsemen  of  the  Plains. 
BACON  —  While  Caroline  Was  Growing. 

CARROLL —  Alice's  Adventures  and  Through  the  Looking  Glass. 
Dix  — A  Little  Captive  Lad. 
GREENE — Pickett's  Gap. 
LUCAS  —  Slow  Coach. 
MABIE  —  Book  of  Christmas. 
MAJOR  —  The  Bears  of  Blue  River. 
MAJOR  —  Uncle  Tom  Andy  Bill. 
NESBIT  —  The  Railway  Children. 
WHYTE — The  Story  Book  Girls. 
WRIGHT — Dream  Fox  Story  Book. 
WRIGHT  —  Aunt  Jimmy's  Will. 


THE   LONG   ROAD 


BY 


JOHN    OXENHAM 

AUTHOR   OF   "  BARBE  OF    GRAND   BAYOU,"   "  HEARTS  IN 

EXILE,"   "THE  GATE  OF  THE   DESERT,"    "PROFIT 

AND   LOSS,"   "WHITE  FIRE,"   ETC.,   ETC. 


fifotk 

THE   MACMILLAN    COMPANY 
1913 

All  rights  reserved 


COPYRIGHT,  1907, 
BY  THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY. 


Set  up  and  electrotyped.     Published  March,  1907. 
Reprinted  March,  July,  1907  ;  April,  1908;  August,  1913. 


J.  8.  Cashing  &  Co.  —  Berwick  &  Smith  Oo. 
Norwood,  Mass.,  U.S.A. 


THE  LONG  ROAD 


271288 


THE   LONG   ROAD 

i 

CHAPTER  I 

ONE  of  the  profoundest  impressions  of  Stepan 
Iline's  childhood  was  mud,  and  one  of  the  most  last- 
ing. Just  as  the  clammy  mud  had  stuck  to  his  aching 
little  feet  on  the  long,  long  road  from  Kazan  in  Russia 
to  Irkutsk  in  Siberia,  —  the  road  that  seemed  as  if  it 
would  never  end,  —  so  the  recollection  of  it  hung  dark 
in  his  memory  for  many  a  long  year  —  in  fact,  until 
he  grew  to  manhood  and  had  other  and  better  things 
to  think  about. 

And  even  then  the  mud  was  never  to  be  quite  for- 
gotten, because  the  sight  of  Katia  made  him  think  of 
it  at  times,  and  at  such  times  he  smiled,  though  it  was 
no  smiling  matter  when  he  was  up  to  his  knees  in  it. 
For,  you  see,  Katia  had  come  to  him  in  the  mud  and 
he  had  never  forgotten  the  very  first  time  he  saw  her. 

"Cling  tight  to  my  gown,  little  Stepan,  or  thou  wilt 
be  lost  in  the  mud !"  said  his  mother,  as  she  had  said 
it  many  scores  of  times  before. 

And  each  time  Stepan  took  a  fresh  grip  of  her  coarse 

NOTE.  —  The  extraordinary  decree  on  which  this  story  is  founded 
is  not  an  effort  of  the  imagination,  but  simple,  historical  fact. 

B  I 


2  THE  LONG  ROAD 

woollen  gown,  and  dragged  his  feet  out  of  the  sticky 
mud,  and  plunged  them  in  again,  and  dragged  them 
out  again,  and  so  managed  to  get  along  by  her  side 
somehow. 

They  were  his  own  feet,  he  knew,  because  he  could 
see  them,  or  the  lumps  of  mud  that  represented  them, 
at  the  ends  of  his  own  two  legs,  but  he  could  not  feel 
them,  except  as  weights.  And  if  the  mud  had  not  been 
so  very  cold  he  would  not  have  minded,  indeed  he  would 
rather  have  liked  plunging  through  it.  But  the  mud 
was  cold  as  ice,  and  it  was  only  sometimes  at  night 
that  his  feet  got  warm  again,  and  even  hot,  and  tingled 
and  smarted.  That  was  when  his  father  or  mother 
was  not  too  weary  to  chafe  them  back  to  life.  At  other 
times  they  felt  like  frozen  stones  and  were  so  heavy 
that  he  could  scarcely  drag  them  along. 

Where  the  ground  was  frozen  hard  his  mother  would 
give  him  her  hand,  and  he  would  trot  along  contentedly, 
knowing  that  sooner  or  later  they  would  stop  and  would 
perhaps  have  something  to  eat  —  would  certainly  lie 
down  and  go  to  sleep.  And  going  to  sleep  was  the 
very  best  thing  life  offered  him  in  these  times. 

But  in  the  bad  places,  where  the  frozen  mud  was 
churned  into  sticky  paste  by  the  hundreds  of  feet  in 
front,  his  mother  had  to  hold  up  her  gown  to  her  knees 
or  she  could  not  have  got  through  at  all.  And  his 
father  trudged  heavily  in  front  laden  with  the  things 
he  had  brought  all  the  way  from  their  old  home  in 


THE  LONG  ROAD  u  3 

Kazan,  —  some  of  his  tools  and  odds  and  ends  that 
would  be  of  service  when  they  reached  their  journey's 
end  and  were  allowed  to  settle  down  in  this  new  country. 

His  father  spoke  little,  and  his  face  was  always  set 
in  a  gloomy  frown,  for  he  was  all  the  time  wondering 
why  such  things  were,  and  the  answer  was  always  just 
beyond  him. 

There  were  close  upon  two  hundred  in  their  convoy, 
—  men,  women,  and  children.  There  were  more  when 
they  started.  The  weaker  ones  had  reached  their 
journey's  end  quicker  than  the  stronger.  But  they 
would  not  have  made  good  settlers,  so  they  were  just 
as  well  where  they  were, —  in  the  snowdrifts,  in  the 
swamps,  by  the  roadside, —  just  where  they  fell  and 
were  left  behind. 

"Is  it  far,  little  mother?"  asked  little  Stepan,  for  the 
twentieth  time  that  day. 

"Not  far  now,  my  man,"  said  his  mother,  cheerfully, 
for  the  twentieth  time  also. 

So  little  Stepan  floundered  on  hopefully.  For,  al- 
though he  had  had  the  same  answer  so  often  before,  and 
he  was  tramping  through  the  mud  still,  his  mother's 
voice  always  put  fresh  heart  into  him.  Besides,  the 
mud  was  so  deep  just  here,  and  there  was  so  much  of 
it,  that  he  thought,  from  experience,  that  they  must 
be  coming  to  a  village.  The  mud  was  always  deepest 
as  they  came  into  or  went  out  of  a  village. 

"I  can  see  the  houses,"  said  his  mother  at  last. 


4  THE   LONG  ROAD 

"Shall  we  get  something  to  eat,  little  mother?" 

"Please  God,"  said  his  mother,  and  little  Stepan 
took  a  fresh  grip  of  her  gown,  and  drew  his  feet  out  of 
the  mud  with  a  manful  jerk,  and  plunged  them  in  again 
with  resolution.  For  even  when  the  village  folk  had 
given  all  they  could  spare  to  those  in  front,  there  was 
always  some  one  who  could  find  a  crust  for  little  Stepan. 

The  villagers  crowded  their  doors  to  see  them  pass, 
and  the  doleful  song  the  prisoners  sang  emptied  the 
scanty  cupboards  into  their  eager  hands.  For  most  of 
those  who  gave  had  in  their  time — they  or  their  for- 
bears —  been  in  like  dismal  case,  and  they  were  used  to 
giving  to  the  unfortunates  on  the  long  road. 

By  reason  of  little  Stepan 's  very  short  legs,  his  father 
and  mother  were  generally  toward  the  rear  of  the  com- 
pany, and  but  for  the  pleading  of  his  hungry  little  face 
would  often  have  come  off  badly  in  the  quest  for  food. 

As  now.  The  melancholy  chant  of  the  hungry 
seeking  bread  rose  and  fell  along  the  wide  street  of  the 
village.  The  weary  eyes  of  the  travellers  clung  long- 
ingly to  the  wooden  houses  where  men  and  women 
dwelt  year  in,  year  out.  They  thought  of  the  homes 
they  had  once  had  in  Russia,  and  wondered  hopelessly 
if  they  would  ever  have  homes  again.  The  whiffs  of 
wood  smoke  that  blew  down  to  them  from  the  chim- 
neys, now  and  again,  were  very  sweet.  They  were 
almost  as  good  as  food.  They  sniffed  them  up  eagerly. 

Some  got  loaves  of  black  bread,  some  got  pieces  of 


THE  LONG  ROAD  5 

ttt 

meat.  But  these  were  the  fortunate  early  comers. 
The  later  ones  got  little  but  pitying  looks  which  did  not 
go  far  toward  the  satisfaction  of  clamouring  stomachs. 

At  the  door  of  the  first  house  stood  a  man  and  his 
wife,  and  a  small  girl  with  her  head  pushed  through 
between  them,  watching  the  long  procession  pass. 

They  had  long  since  given  what  they  had  to  give. 
They  could  only  shake  their  heads  at  the  rest.  They 
were  beginning  to  feel  hurt  at  the  reproachful  looks  that 
were  cast  at  them,  as  though  they  had  not  done  their  best. 

Little  Stepan  stopped  in  front  of  them  and  looked  at 
the  little  girl.  She  was  very  pretty.  She  wore  a  close 
little  cloth  cap,  and  her  fair  curls  came  streaming  out 
below  it.  Her  eyes  were  very  dark  blue,  and  full  of 
wonder  and  pity. 

She  looked  at  little  Stepan  and  Stepan  looked  at  her. 
She  was  the  prettiest  little  girl  he  had  ever  seen  in  his 
life. 

Then,  of  a  sudden,  she  drew  her  hand  through  from 
behind,  and  held  it  out  to  him,  with  a  large  round  cake 
in  it  just  from  the  oven. 

It  was  quite  too  good  an  offer  for  a  hungry  boy  to 
refuse.  Little  Stepan's  white  teeth  were  in  it  as  he 
nodded  his  little  thanks.  Never  in  his  life  had  he 
tasted  so  good  a  cake  nor  seen  so  pretty  a  little  girl. 

And  as  he  ate  he  stared  hard  at  her,  and  never  for- 
got how  nice  she  looked,  with  her  streaming  curls  and 
her  blue  eyes  full  of  wonder  and  pity. 


6  THE  LONG  ROAD 

"  Da,  now !  You've  given  away  your  supper,  Katenka, 
and  it's  all  you'll  get  to-night,"  said  the  mother,  half 
angry  at  such  uncalled-for  generosity. 

And  little  Stepan,  understanding  too  late,  stopped  his 
hungry  little  jaws  with  an  effort,  and  held  out  the  scrap 
of  cake  that  was  left  to  the  supperless  one. 

But  the  small  girl  shook  her  head,  and  smiled,  and 
clung  shyly  to  her  mother's  dress,  for  little  Stepan  was 
thick  with  mud,  and  it  had  splashed  up  even  to  his  face 
and  almost  hid  it.  But  what  little  Katenka  had  seen 
of  it  she  had  liked. 

"The  Good  God  and  all  His  Holy  Angels  keep  you, 
little  Katenka!"  said  Stepan's  mother,  and  then  the 
dismal  company  passed  on. 


CHAPTER  II 

AND  always  as  they  walked,  little  Stepan's  father  — 
Ivan  Iline,  of  Kazan,  in  the  far-away  province  by  the 
great  river  Volga  —  trudged  along  with  bent  head  and 
perplexed  face,  like  a  grim  note  of  interrogation. 

His  slow  mind  was  always  asking:  " Why  is  this? 
Why  are  we  here?"  and  he  could  never  find  any  rea- 
sonable answers  to  those  simple  questions. 

A  dull-witted  mind  of  a  surety !  All  the  day  he  was 
full  of  bitter  thought,  and  fuller  still  when  they  stopped 
for  the  night,  and  his  mind  had  nothing  but  itself  to 
feed  upon,  and  his  body  not  much  more. 

For  this  was  before  the  days  of  organised  exile. 
Badly  organised  as  it  came  to  be  a  few  years  later,  and 
full  of  heart-breaking  cruelties  from  that  day  to  this, 
the  days  before,  —  when  the  unfortunate  ones  were 
driven  across  the  steppes  like  cattle,  but  with  less  care, 
and  with  no  provision  of  food  save  such  as  they  could 
find  or  beg  for  themselves,  —  the  days  before  were  black 
days  indeed. 

At  home  in  Kazan,  Ivan  Iline  had  been  a  blacksmith, 
honest,  hard-working,  and  contented,  owing  no  man 
anything,  and  giving  fullest  value  for  the  money  he 
earned  by  sweat  of  brow  and  strength  of  arm.  A  man 

7 


8  THE  LONG  ROAD 

at  all  times  given  more  to  unceasing  labour  than  to  talk 
or  thought  save  of  the  matter  in  hand,  the  meaning  of  the 
sudden  catastrophe  which  had  befallen  him,  uprooted 
his  home,  and  launched  him  on  the  long  road  to  Siberia, 
was  still  hidden  from  him,  and  still  furnished  his  slow 
mind  with  ceaseless  food  for  dull  speculation. 

A  Jew  trader,  returning  from  the  great  fair  at  Nijni 
Novgorod,  had  stopped  one  day  at  Iline's  forge  for  some 
repairs  to  his  wagon.  And  so  well  had  they  been  done, 
and  at  so  reasonable  a  price,  that  the  Jew,  in  the  ful- 
ness of  his  heart  and  the  recollection  of  many  profitable 
overreachings  at  the  fair,  added  to  the  paltry  settle- 
ment the  gift  of  a  packet  of  snuff.  Snuff  of  so  innocent 
and  adulterated  a  quality  that,  lacking  purchasers, 
he  had  found  himself  under  the  painful  necessity  of 
using  it  himself,  and  he  something  of  a  connoisseur. 

To  the  brawny  smith  it  was  a  novelty  and  of  ample 
strength.  A  hearty  sneeze  now  and  again,  as  he 
rested  on  the  hammer,  cleared  his  head  and  refreshed 
him.  He  felt  the  better  for  it.  After  sneezing  he  would 
even  talk  at  times  of  matters  outside  the  range  of  his 
eyes.  The  snuff  seemed  to  waken  his  brain  from  its 
bucolic  torpor. 

But  the  awakening  of  sluggish  brains  —  even  spas- 
modically through  the  taking  of  adulterated  snuff  — 
was  not  to  the  liking  of  those  in  authority,  since  their 
position  was  secure  only  so  long  as  they  could  block 
all  windows  to  the  soul  and  keep  the  people  in  darkness. 


THE  LONG  ROAD  ^          9 

This  man  was  catching  stray  gleams  through  the 
cracks  in  the  shutters.  He  was  without  doubt  a  Pro- 
gressive. Before  long  he  would  be  for  pulling  the  shut- 
ters down.  He  was  better  away. 

And  presently  Ivan  Iline  found  himself  footing  it 
wearily  to  Siberia,  with  the  fragments  of  his  household 
gods  on  his  back,  and  his  wife  and  little  son  plodding 
behind,  his  sole  alleged  crime  —  snuffing.  The  pun- 
ishment seemed  somehow  out  of  proportion  to  the 
offence. 

Most  of  his  time,  as  he  walked,  was  taken  up  in 
puzzled  wonderment,  but  now  and  again  a  fellow- 
prisoner,  tramping  alongside,  would  open  his  sore 
heart  and  expect  a  return  in  kind.  And  so  he  learned, 
of  this  one  and  that,  that  he  was  not  the  only  one  who 
suffered  for  small  cause. 

One  was  there  because  he  had  failed  to  pay  his  taxes. 
Another  for  cutting  firewood  on  forbidden  ground. 
Another  for  not  being  able  to  hold  his  tongue ;  he  had 
been  in  the  army  and  had  permitted  himself  to  reply 
to  the  taunts  of  a  superior.  And  still  another  because 
he  had  shown  so  little  thrift  that  he  became  a  burden  to 
the  community. 

They  were  all  gloomily  puzzled  at  the  severity  of 
their  punishments.  How  should  they  know,  with  their 
minds  accustomed  only  to  their  own  small  twilight 
concerns,  that  those  who  ruled  had  but  lately  themselves 
awakened  to  the  fact  that,  beyond  the  confines  of  their 


io  THE   LONG  ROAD 

own  land,  lay  a  new  and  mighty  country  teeming  with 
latent  possibilities, — gold,  and  silver,  and  iron ;  timber, 
and  grain,  and  furs ;  fish,  flesh,  and  fowl,  —  sources 
of  wealth  illimitable,  lacking  one  thing  only  for  its 
exploitation — man.  Unproductive,  therefore, — to  the 
State,  —  till  man  in  sufficiency  should  be  prevailed 
upon  to  turn  it  to  account.  And  as  man's  only  desire 
was  to  stop  where  he  was  and  to  be  left  alone,  and  he 
showed  quite  unaccountable  reluctance  for  adventure 
in  unknown  parts  —  why,  there  was  nothing  for  it  but  to 
drag  him  up  by  the  roots  and  transplant  him  to  the 
Happy  Land  by  force.  Whence,  —  marvels  of  in- 
justice, unspeakable  brutalities,  miseries  untold,  and 
the  corruption  in  high  places  that  always  follows 
autocratic  power  misused. 

So  month  by  month,  and  year  by  year,  the  doleful 
companies  streamed  across  the  steppes  to  the  Promised 
Land,  good  and  bad  all  bound  together  by  the  iron  band 
of  evil  circumstance. 

And  those  who  survived  the  horrors  of  the  long  road 
settled  thankfully,  if  perforce,  where  they  were  allowed 
to,  and  the  rest  marked  the  road  with  their  bones  and 
heartened  the  next  comers  to  struggle  on  to  their 
appointed  ends. 


CHAPTER  III 

BUT  little  Stepan's  recollections  of  the  long  road  were 
not  entirely  and  only  of  mud,  though  the  mud  stuck 
to  him  longest. 

It  was  springtime  when  they  left  their  home  in 
Kazan,  and  he  was  nine  years  old.  He  was  now  past 
ten,  and  they  were  still  on  the  road — a  long,  long  walk 
for  small  legs  even  if  they  were  sturdy  ones. 

Spring,  summer,  autumn,  winter,  and  spring 
again,  the  little  feet  had  padded  sturdily  alongside  the 
heavier  ones.  In  the  summer  and  autumn  they  covered 
twice  the  necessary  distance  each  day,  for  then  the 
steppes  were  gay  with  flowers  and  the  woodlands  rich 
with  fruit.  There  were  endless  leagues  of  soft  green 
grass  enamelled  with  daisies  and  primroses,  mile- 
long  stretches  of  vivid  yellow  buttercups,  and  here  and 
there  blue  forget-me-nots  in  such  profusion  that  the 
small  boy  stood  and  looked  first  at  the  ground  and  then 
at  the  sky,  to  see  if  by  chance  some  of  it  had  not  fallen 
on  the  earth. 

Oh,  a  wonderful  place,  those  great  Siberian  steppes 
at  their  best,  when  the  sun  shone  out  of  a  cloudless 
sky,  and  quite  to  the  liking  of  a  small  boy  of  an  inquiring 

turn  of  mind. 

ii 


12  THE  LONG  ROAD 

All  day  long  he  was  never  still  for  a  moment.  A 
dozen  times  a  day  he  would  break  from  his  mother's 
side  with  a  whoop  and  speed  away  after  sparrows  and 
cuckoos,  and  the  little  tufted  steppe-quails  which  ran 
up  fearlessly  to  see  what  all  these  strangers  meant. 
And  sometimes  his  mother's  eyes  would  grow  anxious, 
when  he  disappeared  completely  among  the  grasses 
which  reached  far  above  his  head.  But  always,  sooner 
or  later,  he  came  running  in  again  from  here  and  there, 
laden  with  flowers,  and  full  of  deeds  of  prowess  almost 
done. 

And  sometimes  the  way  led  through  mighty  forests 
of  elms  and  poplars  and  maples  and  lofty  silver  birches, 
and  in  the  thickets  he  would  find  wild  cherries  and  straw- 
berries and  crab-apples,  and  in  these  times  he  was  glad 
they  had  come. 

Then,  out  in  the  open  again,  as  the  year  faded,  the 
great  steppes  grew  the  colour  of  gold,  and  only  in  the 
swampy  places  and  half -dried  water-pans  could  he  find 
any  flowers,  and  the  wild  fruits  wasted  on  their  branches 
and  the  birds  went  away  after  the  sun. 

And  then  the  first  snow  came,  and  he  took  a  grip  of 
his  mother's  gown  and  trudged  stolidly  with  the  rest, 
and  asked  her  twenty  times  a  day  if  it  was  still  far  they 
had  to  go,  and  each  time  she  said,  "Not  far  now,  my 
man,"  as  cheerfully  as  she  could,  and  little  Stepan 
tramped  doggedly  on. 

But  the  winter  was  so  dreadful  a  time  that  it  almost 


THE  LONG  ROAD  13 

shut  the  door  on  the  good  times  before.  The  sky  was 
always  gray,  when  it  was  not  black  dotted  with  falling 
snowflakes.  The  wind  cut  like  a  lash,  the  mud  was 
icy  cold  and  stuck  like  glue,  and  it  was  only  at  night 
that  he  began  to  get  a  trifle  warm,  and  not  always  then 
unless  they  lay  in  a  wood  and  could  get  their  fires  to 
burn. 

For  years  afterwards  little  Stepan  used  to  break  into 
sudden  sobs  in  his  sleep  at  times,  in  nightmares  of  cold 
cramped  feet  that  felt  dead  and  buried  in  the  icy  black 
mud ;  and  cold  chills  would  run  down  his  spine  at  dim 
recollection  of  frosted  fingers  with  ragged  nails  that 
groped  for  a  coarse  woollen  dress  and  scr-r-r-r-raped 
in  it  till  they  hooked  and  held.  And  when  his  mother 
heard  him  sobbing  in  his  sleep  like  that,  she  always 
knew  what  it  was,  and  she  would  take  his  feet  into  her 
warm  hands  and  chafe  them  gently,  as  she  used  to  do 
on  the  long  road,  and  sing  softly  to  him  till  the  bad 
dream  passed. 

It  was  then,  too,  that  he  grew  familiar  with  the  long, 
melancholy  howl  of  starving  wolves.  And  that, 
curiously  enough  and  yet  quite  comprehensibly,  stirred 
him  not  to  fear  but  to  childish  anger.  For  his  mother, 
who  was  brave  in  the  dark  and  cared  nothing  for  the 
icy  mud, —  so  far  as  he  could  see,  at  all  events, — 
shivered  at  sound  of  the  wolves  till  her  teeth  chattered, 
and  she  went  in  dread  of  them  all  day  and  all  night. 

And   at  such  times  little  Stepan  would  forget  his 


i4  THE   LONG  ROAD 

frozen  feet  and  fingers  for  the  moment,  and  would  say 
boldly:  " Don't  be  afraid,  little  mother.  If  the  wicked 
wolves  come,  I  will  kill  them." 

And  as  the  wolves  never  came  near  enough  for 
Stepan  to  kill  them,  it  was  hatred  and  anger  he  felt 
for  them,  but  no  fear.  And  that  which  was  in  him  as 
a  boy  was  in  him  as  a  man. 


CHAPTER  IV 

AFTER  they  left  the  village  where  little  Katenka 
gave  Stepan  her  supper-cake,  they  had  still  nearly 
two  months  of  the  road  before  them,  for  Irkutsk  lies 
more  than  four  hundred  miles  farther  to  the  east, 
and  the  roads  were  bad  and  the  going  was  slow. 

But  however  keen  the  wind,  and  however  cold  the 
mud,  little  Stepan  never  felt  either  as  he  had  done 
before. 

The  remembrance  of  little  Katenka  Js  shy,  rosy  face 
was  like  a  warm  fire  inside  him,  and  he  thought  and 
thought  and  thought  about  her  till  she  seemed  like  an 
old  friend  to  him. 

And  when  the  gray  sky  softened  and  broke,  and  the 
sun  came  through,  and  the  brief  spring  was  upon  them 
again,  he  thought  of  her  still  as  he  gathered  his  armfuls 
of  flowers  by  the  roadside,  and  wished  she  was  there 
so  that  he  could  give  them  to  her. 

And  over  and  over  again  he  said  to  himself,  "The 
Good  God  and  all  His  Holy  Angels  keep  you,  little 
Katenka!"  though  his  ideas  as  to  what  it  meant  were 
dim  and  misty.  But  his  mother  had  said  it  and  so 
it  was  good,  and  it  certainly  meant  good  to  little  Ka- 
tenka. 

'5 


16  THE   LONG  ROAD 

But  the  longest  road  comes  to  an  end  and  they 
reached  Irkutsk  at  last,  and  it  was  strange  to  Stepan 
to  have  a  roof  always  above  his  head  at  night  again, 
after  living  under  the  stars  for  over  a  year ;  and  to  be 
hedged  in  all  round  by  houses,  after  the  boundless 
width  of  the  long  road. 

But  he  found  the  town  better  than  the  steppes  in 
some  respects  if  wanting  in  others.  For  here,  at  all 
events,  were  food  and  warmth  as  matters  of  course; 
here  were  boys  and  girls  to  play  with;  and  here  was 
no  perpetual  moving  on,  no  icy  black  mud  to  plaster 
one  from  foot  to  head,  and  no  frozen  toes  and  fingers. 

And  here,  for  his  mother,  was  the  regular  round  of 
housewifely  duties  to  which  she  had  all  her  life  been 
accustomed,  and  therein,  since  she  lived  for  her  hus- 
band and  her  boy,  content  and  happiness  such  as  she 
had  hardly  dared  to  expect  again. 

Iline  was  very  soon  in  full  work.  He  was  just  the 
man  for  a  new  country  and  a  growing  town,  and  such 
an  excellent  workman  that  success  met  him  with  out- 
stretched hands.  His  forge  was  never  idle  from  the 
day  he  set  it  up,  and  by  degrees  the  merry  clink  of 
hammer  on  anvil  dulled  the  remembrance  of  injustice 
and  oppression.  He  never  quite  forgot,  however,  and 
remained  to  the  day  of  his  death  a  man  of  few  words 
and  of  thoughts  apparently  too  heavy  for  him. 

He  worked  hard,  and  it  may  be  that  he  hammered 
thoughts  too  dangerous  for  utterance  into  his  ploughs 


THE  LONG  ROAD  17 

M 

and  horseshoes  and  picks  and  shovels.  But  these 
things  were  none  the  worse,  and  carried  out  of  the  forge 
no  messages  save  of  excellent  workmanship,  and  his 
fame  as  a  smith  grew.  His  one  indulgence  was  snuff- 
taking,  and  none  found  fault  with  him  for  that. 

It  was  a  great  day  for  little  Stepan  when  he  was 
declared  big  enough  to  help  in  the  forge,  and  thereafter 
father  and  son  worked  side  by  side ;  and  the  boy  grew 
till  he  topped  his  father  in  height,  and  could  wield 
even  the  heaviest  sledge  with  equal  skill,  and  learned 
all  that  his  father  could  teach  him.  Learned,  also, 
some  of  the  thoughts  that  rolled  confusedly  in  his  father's 
brain,  and  built  upon  them  with  his  own,  but  gave  no 
voice  to  them  beyond  the  limits  of  the  forge,  lest  what 
had  been  should  be  again,  and  he  be  sent  still  farther 
afield. 

For  there  were  worse  places  even  than  Irkutsk. 

And  from  his  mother  he  learned  the  gentler  and 
higher  things  which  it  is  a  mother's  special  privilege 
to  teach. 


CHAPTER  V 

YOUNG  Stepan  —  Stepka  to  his  father  and  mother 
and  a  few  besides,  Stepan  Ivanovitch  elsewhere  — 
had  many  friends. 

He  was  by  nature  buoyant  and  light-hearted.  The 
troubles  of  the  transplanting  had  come  upon  him  at 
too  early  an  age  to  cloud  him  permanently.  His  roots 
in  the  old  country  had  not  had  time  to  strike  deeply. 
In  the  new  soil  they  spread  far  and  wide. 

He  never  quite  forgot  the  grimness  of  the  long  road, 
but  it  lay  far  behind  him  like  a  black  winter  when  the 
summer  is  come,  like  a  nightmare  half  remembered 
at  midday. 

But  there  was  one  thing  that  he  never  forgot,  and 
that  was  the  shy,  rosy  face  of  a  small  girl,  pushed 
between  her  father  and  mother,  with  wide  eyes  full 
of  wonder  and  pity,  and  the  little  hand  that  shot  out 
instantly  to  the  need  of  a  hungry  small  boy  and  tendered 
him  all  she  had. 

He  knew  scores  of  maidens  in  Irkutsk,  and  some  of 
them  lacked  little  in  art  —  as  they  knew  it  —  or  nature, 
in  their  appeal  to  a  man,  but  they  did  not  appeal  to 
him.  His  straight  blue  eyes  set  many  a  maid's  heart 

fluttering,  but  that  was  not  his  fault  or  of  any  set  pur- 

18 


THE  LONG  ROAD  19 

u 

pose.  He  held  them  all  in  equal  esteem  and  treated 
them  all  alike. 

His  mother  watched  cautiously,  and  with  natural 
anxiety,  to  see  where  his  choice  would  fall.  But  it 
fell  nowhere,  and  apparently  he  had  no  thought  of 
marrying. 

And,  since  that  was  unnatural,  she  rallied  him  at 
times. 

"Art  difficult  to  please,  my  lad,"  she  would  say. 
"There  is  Nadeja  Markoff  making  eyes  like  cart- 
wheels at  thee,  and  thou  as  blind  to  them  all  as  a  bat." 

"Does  she  so,  little  mother?  She  has  beautiful 
eyes,  has  Nadeja.  But  then  so  has  Natalie  Minof, 
and  so  has  Masha  Kozlo.  They  are  all  as  pretty  as 
flowers." 

"And  thou  findest  none  prettier  than  the  rest?" 

"'Twould  be  hard  to  choose.     I  like  them  all." 

"Ay,  ay  —  'like' !  But  it  is  time  thou  wast  settling 
to  one  among  them.  I  would  like  to  see  thee  wedded 
before  I  die.  And  maybe  dandle  thy  children  on  my 
knee!" 

"Who  talks  of  dying?  Seems  tome  thou  gro west 
younger  every  day,  little  mother.  And  as  to  wedding 
-  and  children !  —  Bozhe-moi,  time  enough  for  all 
that !  Art  surely  getting  tired  of  thy  big  lad." 

"Nay,  but  I  would  have  little  ones  as  well.  Nadeja, 
now  —  she  is  pretty,  and  she  is  modest,  though  she 
does  make  cart-wheel  eyes  at  thee.  But  that  may  be 


20  THE   LONG  ROAD 

excused  her  since  she  cannot  help  it.  And  she  will 
have  a  portion  — " 

"  Will  she  now  ?  What  a  provident  little  mother  it  is  ! " 

"  And  she  will  come  to  thee  if  thou  but  lift  thy  finger. 
May'st  wait  longer  and  fare  worse." 

"All  the  same  I  will  wait,  little  mother." 

"  May'st  wait  too  long." 

"  My  time  will  come  like  other  men's,  but  I  doubt  if 
all  Nadeja's  pretty  cart-wheels  will  bring  it." 

And  so  from  time  to  time,  as  the  wish  grew  in  her, 
she  sounded  him  in  other  directions,  but  got  no  nearer 
her  mark,  and  wondered  much  why  her  boy  stood  un- 
wed while  all  his  comrades  one  by  one  found  mates 
and  set  up  homes  for  themselves. 

Not  that  she  wished  him  away  from  her.  Never 
had  mother  better  son.  He  was  all  that  her  heart 
could  wish.  If  she  longed  to  see  him  happily  wedded, 
it  was  because  she  desired  more  for  him  than  for  her- 
self in  the  matter. 

And  he  was  in  a  position  to  pick  and  choose,  quite 
apart  from  his  good  looks  and  kindly  disposition. 

Honest  workmanship  told  in  Irkutsk  as  elsewhere. 
The  name  of  Ivan  Iline  stood  high  among  his  fellows 
for  many  a  long  mile  outside  the  city,  and  there  were 
no  farming  or  mining  tools  to  equal  his  in  all  the  prov- 
ince. 

His  business  had  grown,  and  now  he  had  men  work- 
ing for  him,  forging  his  tools  and  their  own  characters 


THE  LONG  ROAD  21 

and  futures  under  a  master  eye.  And  his  right  hand 
in  the  forge,  and  in  all  his  business  affairs,  was  his 
son  Stepan,  —  taller  and  broader  than  his  father  by 
inches  now,  full  as  capable  a  craftsman,  and  gifted 
in  business  matters  with  perhaps  a  somewhat  wider 
outlook  —  the  result  of  a  more  liberal  training  than 
his  father  had  ever  enjoyed. 

A  desirable  mate  then  for  any  girl  who  could  cap- 
ture him.  Whence  Nadeja's  cart-wheels,  and  Natalie's 
conscious  looks  whenever  they  met,  and  Masha's  very 
obvious  beguilements. 

He  never  spoke  of  little  Katenka  even  to  his  mother. 
She  was  only  a  memory,  but  a  wonderfully  living 
one  —  only  a  thought,  as  it  were,  but  the  brightest 
and  sweetest  thought  in  his  life. 

The  sweet  child  face,  with  its  eyes  full  of  wonder  and 
pity,  framed  in  its  tight  little  cloth  cap  from  under  which 
streamed  fair  golden  curls,  stood  out  against  the  dim 
background  of  the  past  like  a  silver  moon  in  a  dark 
sky.  He  saw  it  in  the  white  glow  of  the  forge,  in 
the  marbled  coils  of  the  swift  blue  river  as  it  rushed  to 
the  Arctic  sea,  in  the  dappled  shadows  of  the  poplar 
and  birch  trees,  in  the  flower-sprinkled  meadows. 

Little  Katenka  went  with  him  on  journeys  and  came 
to  him  in  his  room. 

He  forgot  much  of  the  past,  but  he  never  forgot  her. 
His  consciousness  of  living  as  a  bein^  all  himself  seemed 
to  date  from  the  day  he  first  saw  her.  Before,  he  had 


22  THE  LONG  ROAD 

been  a  child ;  ever  since,  he  had  felt  himself  growing. 
It  was  perhaps  the  first  time  he  had  been  stirred  quite 
out  of  himself  and  had  thought  more  about  another 
than  about  his  own  small  concerns. 

And  absolutely  all  that  he  knew  about  her  was  that 
she  had  the  sweetest  face  and  the  prettiest  pitiful  eyes 
in  the  world,  and  that  her  name  was  Katenka,  —  that 
is,  Little  Katia,  —  and  that  she  lived  five  hundred 
miles  away  on  the  road  to  Russia.  He  did  not  even 
know  the  name  of  her  village,  for  on  the  long  road  there 
was  little  to  distinguish  one  village  from  another,  except 
that  some  gave  more  and  some  gave  less  where  none 
gave  enough. 

Nadeja  might  have  eyes  like  cart-wheels,  but  little 
Katenka's  eyes  were  like  stars.  Natalie  and  Masha 
might  blush  and  prink,  but  little  Katenka  had  only 
looked  at  him  with  eyes  and  face  full  of  wonder  and 
pity,  and  he  never  forgot  just  how  she  looked. 

He  had  no  conscious  intention  of  ever  seeking  her. 
The  possibilities  of  doing  so  were  very  remote.  She 
might  be  dead.  She  might  be  married.  Anything 
might  be.  But  until  some  other  could  take  her  place  in 
his  imagination,  and  occupy  his  mind  as  she  did,  he 
was  content  as  he  was,  and  Nadeja  and  Natalie  and 
Masha  and  all  the  rest  might  be  as  friendly  to  him  as 
they  liked,  but  they  could  be  no  more. 

And  so  his  mother  waited  and  watched  and  wondered, 
and  the  days  drew  on. 


CHAPTER   VI 

THEN  Dolgourof,  the  Governor,  died,  and  Paschkin 
came  to  rule  Irkutsk  in  his  stead. 

Dolgourof  was  a  man  advanced  in  years,  fond  of  his 
ease  and  good  living.  Not  a  man  to  keep  an  overfirm 
hand  on  the  reins,  yet  not  to  be  easily  ousted  from  a 
seat  which  he  held  chiefly  by  virtue  of  his  relationship 
to  the  Empress.  He  had  held  high  command  in  the 
army,  and  had  married  the  Empress's  sister.  When  the 
time  came  for  him  to  give  place  to  younger  men  he  was 
given  the  post  of  Governor  of  Irkutsk,  a  little  kingdom 
as  large  as  Great  Britain  and  France  combined,  and 
there,  for  fifteen  years,  he  had  played  the  easy-going 
autocrat  to  his  own  and  his  people's  satisfaction. 

For  the  time  being  nothing  could  have  better  met 
the  needs  of  Irkutsk.  Colonists,  under  the  guise  of 
exile,  were  being  drafted  in  in  thousands.  They  arrived 
off  the  long  road  smarting  under  manifold  grievances. 
They  found  an  official  atmosphere  milder  by  far  than 
that  they  had  left.  They  had  lived  in  bureaucratic 
bondage,  cramped  and  fettered  on  every  side.  Here 
they  were  free  to  expand  and  find  themselves  again,  to 
live  wider  lives,  if  so  they  chose,  than  ever  before. 

But  the  very  freedom  which  permitted  such  expan- 
23 


24  THE  LONG  ROAD 

sive  growth  left  loopholes  also  for  a  certain  amount  of 
license.  Dolgourof  held  the  reins  lightly  and  took  his 
ease.  His  subordinates  could  not  put  him  to  shame 
by  any  display  of  Spartan  rigour.  Things  grew  some- 
what lax.  There  came  at  times  muffled  growls  from 
Petersburg,  especially  when  the  yearly  contributions 
to  the  treasury  fell  more  and  more  into  arrear.  For 
Petersburg  was  a  mighty  maw  with  an  inappeasable 
appetite  for  gold.  And  when  it  was  not  fed,  the  worms 
that  battened  on  it  made  themselves  heard. 

And  so,  when  Dolgourof  died,  they  sent  Paschkin 
to  Irkutsk,  with  orders  to  whip  his  province  into  the 
paths  of  virtue  and  the  full  and  prompt  payment  of  its 
dues,  by  any  means  he  deemed  fit.  And  the  job  was 
to  his  liking. 

He  had  been  holding  down  the  Khirgish  Tartars, 
and  before  he  had  done  with  them,  the  Tartars,  what- 
ever their  original  beliefs  on  the  subject,  were  convinced 
of  the  existence  of  a  personal  Devil,  and  their  Devil 
was  known  by  the  name  of  Paschkin. 

Worried  mothers  quieted  their  children  by  threats 
of  Paschkin. 

"Stop  it,  or  I'll  send  thee  to  Paschkin !"  never  failed 
to  reduced  a  howl  to  a  whimper  and  a  whimper  to  terri- 
fied silence. 

"Paschkin  get  thee!"  became  the  direst  imprecation 
a  man  could  hurl  at  his  enemy. 

He  was  that  Paschkin  who  kept  his  knouts  steeped 


THE  LONG  ROAD  25 

L* 

in  brine,  in  their  short  intervals  of  rest  —  that  Pasch- 
kin  who  had  not  scrupled  to  knout  women  naked  — 
that  Paschkin  who  valued  a  man's  life  at  one-tenth  that 
of  a  horse  —  that  Paschkin  who  had  proved  himself 
able  to  keep  order  in  a  province  when  other  men  had 
failed. 

That  he  still  lived,  in  spite  of  his  brutalities,  says 
something  for  his  tenacity  and  courage,  if  little  for  the 
mettle  of  his  subjects.  No  man  ever  qualified  more 
fully  for  sudden  extinction  than  did  his  Excellency, 
and  yet  he  lived,  and  dealt  out  death  all  about  him  with 
liberal  hand,  and  in  strange  and  terrifying  fashions,  and 
all  men  trembled  before  him. 

He  was  said  to  be  an  unacknowledged  offshoot  of 
the  royal  tree.  He  had  pushed  his  head  up  through  the 
mud  that  surrounded  the  throne,  and  his  rapid  pro- 
motion gave  colour  to  the  report.  He  made  his  way  by 
sheer  bull  force  of  will  and  absolute  heedlessness  of 
life  —  his  own  or  any  other's.  He  ran  amok  with  life, 
and  life  gave  way  before  him. 

If  not — as  the  Tartars  believed  —  the  arch-fiend 
himself,  he  was  undoubtedly  at  times  possessed  of 
many  devils.  He  had  a  mania  —  one  among  many, 
and  all  alike  detestable  —  for  odd  and  terrifying  forms 
of  punishment.  He  buried  recalcitrant  Tartars  up  to 
their  necks  in  the  sand  and  galloped  his  Cossacks  over 
them.  He  put  them  in  holes  head  downward  with 
their  feet  sticking  out,  and  set  his  men  to  tent-pegging 


26  THE  LONG  ROAD 

with  their  lances  at  the  writhing  feet.  And  when  the 
wine  worked  off  sooner  than  he  had  anticipated,  and 
he  lay  awake  of  a  night,  he  spent  the  time  pleasantly 
and  profitably  devising  new  vexations  for  his  people. 

His  own  way,  wine,  horses,  and  women  —  those  were 
his  objects  in  life  in  their  proper  order.  Any  thing 
or  body  who  came  in  between  was  clearly  marked  for 
destruction. 

When  the  men  of  Irkutsk  heard  that  Paschkin  was 
coming,  they  shook  in  their  boots.  And  some,  whose 
thumbs  pricked  unduly,  took  warning  thereby,  gathered 
up  their  gear,  and  moved  on  into  the  wilderness  while 
yet  there  was  time.  Nature  at  its  savagest  seemed  to 
them  preferable  to  Paschkin. 


CHAPTER  VH 

So  Paschkin  ruled  in  Irkutsk. 

He  gripped  the  reins  with  inflexible  hands,  and, 
like  a  wilful  driver,  drew  them  tight  and  used  the  lash 
simultaneously. 

His  power  was  absolute,  and  no  man  was  found  to 
dispute  his  will.  Petersburg  and  the  Tzar  were  very 
far  away,  and  at  best,  to  most  of  them,  no  more  than 
names — names  that  spelt  to  some  most  grievous  cruelty 
and  oppression.  And  Paschkin  was  on  the  spot  and 
his  sole  word  was  law,  though  his  doings  were  surely 
inspired  by  the  Devil. 

Before  he  had  been  there  a  month  the  wretched  folk 
whom  he  held  in  the  hollow  of  his  hand  —  until  such 
time  as  he  chose  to  close  it  and  grind  them  to  powder 
—  had  no  delusions  on  the  subject.  Paschkin  was  the 
Devil  himself,  unmistakably  and  incontestably. 

The  laxed  lines  were  tightened  with  a  ruthless  twist, 
new  burdens  were  imposed,  the  tribute  was  brought  up 
to  its  maximum  and  more,  and  was  despatched  ahead 
of  time.  Irkutsk  toed  the  line  with  a  jerk  that  almost 
threw  it  on  its  back,  and  fell  on  troublous  times.  Life 
and  liberty,  and  all  the  smaller  things,  were  dependent 

on  the  whim  of  this  one  man,  and  he  devoid  of  conscience 

27 


28  THE  LONG  ROAD 

or  even  human  feeling,  and  answerable  to  none,  least 
of  all  to  God,  whose  very  distant  acquaintance  he  had 
dropped  even  before  he  began  to  get  on  in  the  world. 

Ivan  Iline  had  prospered  under  Dolgourof .  His  wife 
had  grown  content  and  even  happy,  as  the  old  memories 
faded  behind  the  newer  activities.  If  only  Stepka 
would  marry  and  provide  her  with  a  baby  to  dandle 
on  her  knee  and  fuss  over,  she  would  ask  no  more. 

And  only  in  that  one  respect  did  Stepka  fall  short  of 
their  desire.  In  every  other  way  he  was  all  that  the 
most  exacting  could  have  wished, — a  good  son,  an  ex- 
cellent workman,  straight  as  a  die,  and  of  a  joyous 
disposition. 

Under  Paschkin's  grinding  rule,  Iline,  wise  in  the 
memory  of  his  transplanting,  walked  warily,  kept  a  quiet 
face  and  a  silent  tongue,  lived  modestly,  and  paid  his 
share  of  the  increased  taxes  without  a  murmur. 

He  had  no  illusions  respecting  the  new  Governor. 
The  man  was  a  menace  at  large.  The  wise  man  avoids 
an  obvious  danger  by  every  means  in  his  power.  As 
far  as  lay  in  him  he  would  see  to  it  that  Paschkin  and  he 
came  to  no  dispute.  None  but  a  fool  puts  himself  in 
the  path  of  the  lightning. 

If  Paschkin  came  across  him  he  would  fall  in  with 
his  humours.  He  would  agree  to  his  wildest  demands. 
He  would  give  him  no  handle  against  him.  He  was  too 
old  for  strife  and  another  uprooting. 

But  he  did  not  know  Paschkin. 


THE  LONG  ROAD  29 

It  was  the  Governor's  business  to  learn  all  about 
the  men  confided  to  his  tender  mercies  as  soon  as 
possible. 

Within  two  days  he  had  gone  over  the  roll  of  citizens 
of  his  capital,  name  by  name,  and  had  gathered  into  his 
unfailing  memory  the  points  he  required  concerning 
each. 

Within  a  week  his  three-horse  tarantas  whirled  up 
to  Iline's  forge  and  stopped  dead  in  its  cloud  of 
dust. 

Iline  met  him  bareheaded  at  the  door,  with  impassive 
face  and  tumultuous  heart. 

"You  are  Ivan  Ivanovitch  Iline?"  cried  the  bull 
voice. 

"At  your  service,  Excellency,"  and  Paschkin's  keen 
black  eyes  bored  into  him  like  probes. 

"You  are  honest,  quiet,  industrious,  they  say,  and 
meddle  with  no  man's  business.  Here  twelve 
years." 

Iline  bowed. 

"What  brought  you?" 

"I  was  transplanted,  Excellency." 

"What  brought  you?" 

"The  real  reason  or  the  given,  Excellency?" 

"  What  —  brought  —  you  ?  " 

"Irkutsk  needed  men.  I  took  snuff."  There  was 
snuff  on  Paschkin's  braided  coat,  and  some  on  Iline's 
smock. 


3o  THE  LONG  ROAD 

"You  snuff  still?" 

"At  times,  Excellency." 

"I  name  you  for  my  council.  You  will  come  to- 
morrow." 

And  at  that  Iline's  heart  sank,  but  his  face  remained 
unmoved.  He  bowed  silently. 

"And  this — "  said  the  Governor  in  his  great  voice, 
swinging  suddenly  round  on  Stepka,  who  had  remained 
discreetly  in  a  corner,  out  of  sight  as  he  thought,  not 
knowing  Paschkin  —  "is  your  son ?  " 

"At  your  service,  Excellency,"  said  Iline,  and  young 
Stepan  stood  in  view  in  all  his  height  and  breadth. 

"A  likely  lad.    Honest?" 

"As  steel,  Excellency." 

"I  have  a  commission  for  him.  You  know  Selem- 
sinsk?"  he  asked  of  Stepka. 

"By  name  only,  Excellency.  Since  we  came  here  I 
have  been  only  to  the  mountains  and  the  lake." 

"It  is  easily  found  —  five  days  back  on  the  road  you 
came.  As  I  passed  I  saw  two  horses  there  running  on 
the  steppe,  perfect  blacks,  and  well  matched.  Irkutsk 
waited  and  I  could  not  stop.  You  will  go  to  Selem- 
sinsk,  find  out  to  whom  they  belong,  and  bring  them 
back  with  you.  I  give  five  hundred  roubles  for  the  pair. 
You  will  say  they  are  for  Paschkin.  You  will  start  to- 
morrow. You  will  get  fresh  horses  where  you  need  them 
-  and  food.  You  will  say,  "  I  travel  for  Paschkin." 
If  any  refuse  you,  I  will  hang  him  from  his  own  lintel. 


THE  LONG  ROAD  31 

Come  to  me  an  hour  after  sunrise,"  and  the  tarantas 
was  out  of  sight  before  the  dust  of  its  start  had  cleared 
away. 

And  Ivan  Iline  looked  at  his  son  with  tightened  mouth 
and  a  face  that  was  no  longer  impassive. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

"  FIVE  days  going,  one  for  accidents,  one  day  there ; 
but  returning  you  will  take  your  time  lest  the  blacks 
suffer.  You  should  be  back  in  sixteen  days." 

"I  will  do  my  best,  Excellency,"  said  Stepka. 

"I  shall  look  for  you  in  sixteen  days,"  said  Paschkin, 
with  a  black  frown. 

"Should  the  blacks  be  out  on  the  steppe,  Excel- 
lency—" 

"I  give  you  one  more  day,"  growled  Paschkin,  the 
evil  humour  in  him  rousing  at  such  unaccustomed 
questioning  of  his  orders. 

"Should  the  rains  come  and  the  roads  go,  Excel- 
lency—" 

"I  shall  look  for  you  in  sixteen  days,"  bellowed 
Paschkin.  "And  you  will  see  that  the  blacks  do  not 
suffer." 

And  so,  provided  with  a  light  tarantas  on  which  was 
affixed  an  imperial  badge  as  an  open  sesame  to  every 
door  on  the  road,  and  three  good  horses,  young  Stepan 
set  off  at  a  jingling  gallop  on  the  most  eventful  journey 
of  his  life. 

He  was  in  the  best  of  spirits.  Here  was  an  adventure 
for  one  whose  wanderings,  since  the  martyrdom  of  the 

32 


THE  LONG  ROAD  33 

LM, 

Jong  road  twelve  years  before,  had  never  extended  be- 
yond the  mountains  in  search  of  game,  or  to  the  shores 
of  the  great  lake,  forty  miles  away,  out  of  which  their 
mighty  river  came  roaring  full  born. 

It  was  a  crisp  September  morning.  The  sun  shone 
brightly  in  a  clear  blue  sky.  The  fur  shuba  his  mother 
had  insisted  on  his  taking  seemed  out  of  place,  but  she 
knew  that  he  would  be  glad  of  it  later  on.  There  had 
been  a  spell  of  dry  weather,  and  the  roads,  such  as  they 
were,  would  be  in  good  condition.  He  was  travelling 
under  the  all-powerful  hand  of  Paschkin,  and  speed 
was  of  the  essence  of  his  service.  What  more  could  a 
man  desire  ? 

As  the  ponderous  pendulum  ferry  swung  them  slowly 
across  from  the  right  to  the  left  bank  of  the  Angara,  he 
had  time  to  make  the  more  personal  acquaintance  of 
his  horses,  —  looked  into  their  startled  eyes,  stroked 
their  panting  sides  and  soft,  flapping  noses,  and  enjoyed 
to  the  full  the  deference  extended  to  his  position  by  all 
on  board. 

Tunka,  gleaming  in  the  distance  like  a  jewel  under 
sun  and  snow,  flung  him  a  God-speed  as  he  climbed 
into  his  seat  again  and  swept  away  along  the  river-road 
to  the  merry  chiming  of  his  horses'  bells.  And  the 
other  passengers  stood  looking  after  him  and  said, 
"Bozhe-moi,  he  travels  for  Paschkin,  and  without 
doubt  his  skin  is  at  stake,"  which  Stepka  would  not 
have  looked  upon  as  flattering. 


34  THE  LONG  ROAD 

Past  the  monastery,  to  which  he  had  often  made 
excursion  with  his  father  and  mother,  and  then  at  last 
the  road  parted  from  the  river  and  wound  away  among 
the  hills. 

And  here  in  places  the  woods  were  ablaze  with 
colour,  the  poplars  burning  red,  the  birches  flaming 
yellow,  and  in  below,  the  dark,  unchanging  masses  of 
the  evergreens.  Flowers,  too,  here  and  there,  in  swampy 
bottoms,  —  golden-rod  and  asters,  wild  mustard  and 
spirea,  bluebells  and  forget-me-nots.  And  when  he 
came  to  the  open,  the  land  lay  before  him  like  a  sheet 
of  gold,  here  and  there  patches  of  wheat  sighing  for 
the  sickle,  with  men  and  women  in  blue  and  red  and 
brown  leisurely  at  work  among  it;  and  out  beyond, 
the  mighty  sweep  of  the  steppe  as  yellow  with  its 
withered  grasses  as  the  wheat  itself. 

At  midday  he  stopped  at  a  village  of  a  dozen  gray, 
wooden  houses,  and  drew  up  at  the  largest  and  asked 
for  food  and  fresh  horses. 

He  had  been  thinking  it  all  out  as  he  drove  along. 
Paschkin  bound  him  to  a  time  limit,  but  gave  him  free 
hand  in  the  matter  of  requisitions.  It  would  be  justice 
neither  to  himself  nor  his  horses  not  to  avail  himself 
to  the  full  of  the  powers  of  his  imperial  badge. 

The  mistress  of  the  house  set  to  work  at  once  pre- 
paring a  meal,  but  at  the  demand  for  horses  the  master 
looked  black. 

"I  travel  for  Paschkin,"  said  Stepan,  briefly;  "and 


THE  LONG  ROAD  35 

L* 

I  cannot  help  myself.  Paschkin's  word  is  that  he  who 
refuses,  hangs." 

"Ach!  He  is  the  Devil,  they  say.  When  do  you 
return?" 

"In  fifteen,  sixteen  days,  or  thereabouts." 

"Nu  !  When  the  Devil  drives — "  and  he  went  out 
sulkily  to  find  horses. 

The  meal  was  good,  and  the  horses  were  good,  and, 
thanks  to  the  fear  of  Paschkin,  they  were  off  again 
within  the  hour.  And  as  they  swept  across  the  lonely 
steppe  and  wound  more  slowly  through  the  wooded 
hills,  the  merry  clash  and  tinkle  of  his  bells  stirred  his 
heart  to  song,  and  the  sound  of  his  going  pealed  far 
along  the  plains  and  woke  brief  echoes  in  the  lonely 
aisles  of  the  forest. 

Here  and  there  were  swamps  where  his  horses  sank 
to  the  knees  and  his  wheels  to  the  hubs,  and  all  round 
these  the  wild  flowers  still  bloomed  radiantly.  And 
here  and  there  the  road  had  gone  to  pieces  and  he  had 
to  go  warily.  And  at  every  hill  he  got  out  and  walked 
alongside  his  panting  horses  and  heartened  them  by 
word  and  hand. 

But  on  the  whole  the  roads  were  in  good  condition, 
and  when  he  rattled  into  a  village  of  size,  an  hour  after 
sunset,  he  learned  that  it  lay  one  hundred  and  twenty 
versts  from  Irkutsk,  and  that  was  just  one-fifth  of  the 
extent  of  his  journey. 

Here  again  food  and  lodging  were  accorded  him 


36  THE  LONG  ROAD 

willingly,  and  here  again  the  master  of  the  house  soured 
at  his  demand  for  horses. 

"Of  a  truth  this  Paschkin  is  the  Devil,  as  they  say. 
Does  he  think  we're  made  of  horses?  And  the  wheat 
just  cutting,"  he  grumbled. 

"You  will  have  mine,"  said  Stepan,  soothingly. 

"Of  course.  But  one  does  not  always  use  another 
man's  horses  as  one  would  one's  own,"  with  a  meaning 
look. 

"Some  might  use  them  worse." 

"He  would  be  a  rogue  who  used  his  neighbour's 
horses  worse  than  his  own." 

"You  can  judge  by  those  I  bring.  But  Paschkin 
binds  me  to  speed,  and  horses  I  must  have.  His  word 
was  that  he  who  refuses,  hangs." 

"He  is  the  Devil.    What  time  do  you  start?" 

"At  daybreak." 

And  while  the  dew  still  lay  white  upon  the  steppe, 
and  the  shadows  were  still  creeping  in  the  clefts  of 
the  hills,  he 'muffled  himself  in  his  shuba  and  blessed 
his  mother,  and  whirled  on  his  way  as  eagerly  as  though 
he  knew  what  awaited  him  at  Selemsinsk. 


CHAPTER  IX 

THE  Governor's  badge  and  the  terror  of  his  name 
overcame  all  the  difficulties  of  the  way.  Where  the 
village  was  of  a  size  to  boast  a  police  office,  Stepan 
drove  there  at  once  and  left  them  to  arrange  matters. 
But  the  loneliest  hut  on  the  steppe  had  heard  of  Pasch- 
kin  and  that  he  was  the  Devil,  and  no  man  offered  his 
head  for  the  noose. 

He  was  blessed  with  fine  weather,  and  the  roads 
were  in  as  good  condition  as  that  could  bring  about, 
and  on  the  evening  of  the  fifth  day  he  carried  his  merry 
peal  into  Selemsinsk  well  up  to  time. 

"Two  black  horses?"  said  the  chief  of  police. 
"Ay,  they  are  Vasili  Totsin's.  And  so  Paschkin  wants 
them !  Totsin  is  proud  of  them,  but  if  he'd  known 
Paschkin  was  coming,  he'd  have  hid  them  in  the  steppe, 
I  trow." 

"He  won't  wish  to  part  with  them?" 

"You  will  see." 

And  after  supper  Stepan  went  along  to  Vasili  Tot- 
sin's  house,  the  last  house  in  the  village  going  westward, 
the  first  house  you  came  to  going  east. 

He  knocked  on  the  door,  and  it  was  opened  instantly 
by  a  girl  who  stood  looking  out  at  him.  The  light  of 

37 


38  THE  LONG  ROAD 

the  room  was  behind  her.  He  could  not  see  her  face, 
but  she  seemed  of  a  shapely  figure,  and  the  light  behind 
rayed  about  her  brown  hair  as  in  the  pictures  of  the 
saints. 

"I  have  come  to  see  Mr.  Totsin  about  some  horses," 
said  Stepan. 

"Come  in,"  said  the  girl.  "I  will  find  him.  He  is 
with  a  neighbour,"  and  Stepan  stepped  into  the  room. 

And  as  the  girl  came  into  the  full  light  of  the  lamp, 
he  fell  back  with  an  exclamation  of  profoundest  amaze- 
ment. 

The  girl  stood  looking  at  him  in  surprise.  And 
indeed  he  was  good  to  look  upon,  but  here  was  some- 
thing beyond  her  comprehension. 

His  eyes  were  fixed  upon  her  face  in  a  look  that 
reminded  her  of  their  dog  Van  when  he  came  home 
once  after  a  week's  wandering  on  the  steppe.  There 
was  in  it  the  craving  of  a  mighty  hunger,  and  joyful 
satisfaction  at  rinding  himself  at  home  again,  and 
more.  For  the  startled  blue  eyes  of  this  strange  young 
man  seemed  to  look  through  her,  and  beyond  her,  in 
a  way  that  would  have  been  disconcerting  but  for  the 
rapt  gladness  that  was  in  them  too. 

She  was  used  to  being  looked  at.  The  good  God 
had  given  her  her  looks  and  she  rejoiced  in  them.  But 
no  man  had  ever  looked  at  her  quite  as  this  man  did, 
with  a  blazing  star  in  each  eye,  and  an  eager  hunger 
in  his  face  that  made  her  wonder  if  he  could  be  starving. 


THE   LONG  ROAD  39 

And  no  wonder  there  were  stars  in  his  eyes,  for  here, 
indeed,  was  a  thing  beyond  belief  almost. 

For,  day  by  day,  as  he  rode  across  the  steppe  or 
threaded  the  clefts  of  the  wooded  hills,  he  had  said  to 
himself,  "  Supposing  now  —  just  supposing  I  came 
upon  that  village  !  Should  I  know  her  again  ?  Should 
I  know  her?  She  must  be  grown  by  this  time  almost 
to  a  woman.  Perhaps  she  has  changed  out  of  know- 
ledge. Perhaps  she  is  dead.  Perhaps  she  died  just 
after  I  saw  her  and  that  is  why  her  face  appears  to  me 
so  constantly." 

That  was  a  dreadful  thought  and  set  him  gloomy 
for  a  space.  But  the  merry  beat  of  his  horses'  feet, 
and  the  rattle  and  roll  of  his  tarantas,  and  the  sweet 
air  and  sunshine  sped  his  fears  before  long,  and  he  was 
thinking  of  her  again,  alive,  and  beautiful,  and  shy, 
and  kind,  just  as  he  had  seen  her  that  muddy  day  when 
she  reached  out  her  hand  and  gave  him  her  cake. 

She  would  be  older,  of  course,  but  he  would  know 
her  again  —  oh,  surely,  he  would  know  her,  no  matter 
how  she  was  changed.  He  would  know  her  among  ten 
thousand,  for  her  face  had  been  with  him  year  in  and 
year  out  ever  since  that  first  day  he  saw  her. 

He  had  often  wondered  where  that  village  was  and 
what  its  name.  There  were  so  many  villages  on  the 
long  road,  and  all  so  drearily  alike,  and  nothing  to 
recall  one  more  than  another  except  to  him.  To  him 
there  was  no  village  in  the  world  to  compare  with  that 


40  THE  LONG  ROAD 

one  where  little  Katenka  lived,  but  he  had  only  caught 
broken  glimpses  of  it  as  he  trudged,  holding  on  by  his 
mother's  gown. 

And  here,  from  the  darkness  of  the  straggling  village 
street,  he  had  stepped  suddenly  into  a  radiance  brighter 
than  the  sun.  From  the  darkness  of  the  past  the  child's 
shy  face  had  glimmered  out  at  him  for  years ;  and  here, 
in  the  sweet  face  that  began  to  colour  under  the  fer- 
vour of  his  hunger-look,  he  had  found  it  again  —  at 
last. 

"Little  Katenka!"  he  murmured,  not  in  doubt  or 
questioning,  but  in  long-delayed  and  joyful  greeting. 

And  as  he  looked  he  saw  himself  standing  outside 
in  the  cold  once  more,  caked  in  sticky  black  mud  from 
foot  to  head.  His  feet  were  lumps  of  lead.  His  little 
legs  were  very  tired.  His  little  body  felt  like  an  empty 
drum,  and  something  inside  him  growled  and  grumbled 
like  fighting  beasts.  And  then,  of  a  sudden,  into  his 
dreariness  a  rosy  face  pushed  through;  and  to  his 
clamouring  emptiness  a  tiny  hand  thrust  out  a  hot  brown 
cake;  and  a  chiding  voice  told  him,  too  late,  that  he 
was  eating  the  little  one's  supper  and  that  she  would  have 
none.  But  the  rosy  face  had  smiled  on  him  still,  and  the 
hot  cake  filled  him  with  more  than  itself,  and  the  icy  mud 
was  no  longer  so  cold,  nor  the  road  so  dreary.  In  the 
strength  of  that  cake  and  the  manner  of  its  giving  he 
had  gone  many  days;  and  in  his  boyish  mind  that 
straggling  gray  village,  whose  very  name  he  did  not 


THE  LONG  ROAD  u  41 

know,  was  distinguished  from  all  the  other  gray  villages 
by  the  friendly  warmth  that  had  shone  from  the  eyes 
of  the  child.  And  the  rippling  curls  that  tumbled  out 
from  under  her  little  cloth  cap  were  like  sunbeams,  too, 
and  he  never  thought  of  that  village  as  bleak  and  cold, 
but  as  always  bright  in  the  sun. 

And  here  were  the  friendly  eyes  and  the  sunny  hair, 
and  through  the  matured  beauty  of  the  maid  he  could 
trace  unerringly  the  sweet  child-face  of  his  dreams. 

"  Little  Katenka!"  he  said  again,  and  now  with  a 
joyous  ring  in  his  voice. 

"But  yes,  I  am  Katia,"  and  her  eyes  were  wide  with 
wonder.  "I  was  Katenka  till  I  grew  too  big.  But 
who  are  you?  I  do  not  know  you." 

"And  I  have  known  you  half  my  life,"  and  his  eyes 
never  left  her  face.  It  seemed  as  if  he  never  could  get 
enough  of  her.  His  thirsty  eyes  drank  in  the  sight  of 
her  as  a  horse  sucks  in  the  water  after  a  long  journey. 

And  then,  from  a  corner,  there  came  a  movement  and 
the  cry  of  a  child,  and  Katia  ran  to  it  and  lifted  it  from 
its  cradle,  and  stood  swaying  it  with  a  soothing  croon 
while  she  still  looked  at  him  over  it. 

"You  are  not  married ?"  he  jerked,  and  his  voice  was 
suddenly  hoarse,  and  she  saw  that  his  face  had  gone 
strangely  white. 

"No,  I  am  not  married.  This  is  Varia's.  Whom 
should  I  marry?"  she  laughed,  from  which  he  might 
have  gathered  that  the  village  was  deficient  in  eligible 


42  THE  LONG  ROAD 

yourhs.  But  he  had  only  one  thought,  and  he  filled 
it  quickly  to  the  brim. 

"Me!" 

And  she  eyed  him  with  fresh  surprise  but  yet  with  no 
disfavour.  His  eyes  were  straight  and  true.  He  was 
good  to  look  upon.  She  had  no  fear  of  him.  In  some 
strange  way  he  knew  her,  though  she  did  not  know 
him.  There  was  something  in  his  joyful  regard  of  her 
that  she  did  not  understand,  but  it  stirred  her 
strangely. 

"I  will  go  for  my  father,"  she  said.  "They  are  all 
in  at  Dimitri  Saxo's." 

"Wait!"  he  begged.  "Let  me  tell  you!  Do  you 
remember  —  twelve  years  ago  —  an  exile  party  for 
Irkutsk  passed  by  your  house?  A  small  boy,  thick 
with  mud,  begged  a  crust,  and  you  gave  him  your 
supper-cake — " 

"Bozhe-moi!"  she  laughed,  through  her  wonder. 
"I  was  not  allowed  to  forget  it.  Whenever  I  did  a 
foolishness,  they  said :  '  What  would  you  ?  She  gave 
her  supper-cake  to  the  mud-boy.'" 

"I  was  the  mud-boy,  and  the  face  of  little  Katenka, 
as  she  pushed  between  her  father  and  mother,  has 
never  left  me.  I  saw  it  in  the  forge,  in  the  trees,  in 
the  river,  and  always  in  my  dreams.  All  my  life  I 
have  loved  it." 

"You  were  the  boy?"  and  her  face  was  rosy  at  his 
vehemence. 


THE  LONG  ROAD,.  43 

"And  now  I  am  a  man,  and  I  have  found  you  again 
at  last.  And  Katenka  —  Katia — " 

"I  will  bring  my  mother,"  she  said  hastily,  and 
slipped  the  sleeping  child  into  its  cot  and  ran  out  of 
the  door. 


CHAPTER  X 

SHE  was  back  in  a  moment  with  her  father  and 
mother  and  her  sister  Varia,  and  whatever  she  had 
told  them  had  sufficed  to  fill  their  faces  with  wonder. 
Katia  crept  in  last  of  all,  and  hid  behind  the  others. 

"I  am  Stepan  Iline,  son  of  Ivan  Iline  of  Irkutsk," 
began  Stepan. 

" Iline  who  makes  the  ploughs?"  asked  Totsin. 

He  was  a  man  of  sixty,  with  a  long,  narrow  face  and 
straggly  gray  hair  and  beard.  His  eyes  were  small 
and  quick-glancing,  but  rather  close- set.  He  had 
been  exiled  twenty  years  before  for  daring  to  drive 
his  horse  with  reins  instead  of  running  beside  it.  Here 
he  drove  as  he  chose. 

His  wife,  Marya  Feodorovna,  was  more  generously 
made.  She  had  a  very  pleasant,  good-humoured  face, 
and  it  was  from  her  that  her  daughters  got  their  fine, 
dark-blue  eyes. 

Varia  had  something  of  Katia  in  her  face,  but  was 
several  years  older.  Her  baby  was  only  three  months 
old  and  she  was  not  yet  very  strong  again.  She  was 
pale  and  quiet,  and  spoke  little  before  the  stranger. 

"He  is  my  father,"  said  Stepan. 

"They  are  good  ploughs." 
44 


THE  LONG  ROAD  45 

''Everything  we  make  is  good  and  good  work  has 
prospered  us.  Has  Katia  told  you  ?  I  am  the  mud- 
boy  to  whom  she  gave  her  supper-cake  — 

"Bozhe-moi,"  said  Mrs.  Totsin,  with  a  friendly 
laugh.  "But  you  are  grown  since  then.  And  you 
are  cleaner,  too." 

"We  had  been  a  year  on  the  road  and  the  roads 
were  mud,"  he  said  in  extenuation. 

"And  now,"  said  Totsin,  "you  are  come — " 

"  Ah,  that  is  another  business.  I  am  sent  by  Pasch- 
kin—  " 

"Ah!  —  Paschkin!"  said  Totsin,  sourly,  with  a 
change  of  face. 

"They  say  he  has  a  devil,"  said  his  wife. 

"Is  the  Devil,"  corrected  Totsin,  harshly.  "Bring 
us  vodka,"  to  his  wife.  "  Paschkin  gives  me  a  bad  taste 
in  the  mouth.  And  what  does  Paschkin  want  with  me  ? ' 

"When  he  passed  through  here,  in  haste  for  Irkutsk, 
he  saw  two  black  horses  running  on  the  steppe.  He 
has  sent  me  for  them." 

"The  devil!"  said  Totsin,  and  his  cup  of  vodka 
stopped  halfway  to  his  mouth,  while  he  glared  over 
it  at  Stepan  with  no  friendly  look. 

"The  mission  is  none  of  my  seeking,  I  assure  you. 
But  none  says  nay  to  Paschkin.  He  came  to  our 
forge,  called  my  father  to  be  one  of  his  councillors, 
and  ordered  me  here,  all  in  a  breath.  I  started  next 
morning  an  hour  after  sunrise." 


46  THE   LONG  ROAD 

"  But  —  bozhe-moi  —  my  horses  !" 

"He  gives  five  hundred  roubles  for  them." 

"Ah  —  five  hundred  roubles!  That  is  not  much 
for  two  such  horses  as  those,"  but  all  the  same  his 
little  close-set  eyes  twinkled  greedily.  "They  would 
be  cheap  at  a  thousand.  And  if  only  there  were  three 
they  would  be  worth  a  thousand  apiece." 

"I  do  not  doubt  it.  But  Paschkin  fixes  his  own 
price,  and  truly  he  is  not  one  to  bargain  with.  He 
hangs  men  for  a  word,  they  say,  and  sometimes  without 
one." 

"And  you  have  brought  his  money  with  you?" 

"I  have  brought  his  money." 

"He  has  faith  in  you,  for  sure." 

"As  you  see." 

"Five  hundred  roubles,  bozhe-mo'i,  and  they  are 
cheap  at  a  thousand !"  he  grumbled,  with  a  meditative 
sip  of  his  vodka.  "And  when  would  you  require 
them?  They  are  out  on  the  steppe,  you  see." 

"He  gave  me  fifteen,  sixteen  days.  More,  if  the 
horses  were  out  on  the  steppe  or  the  rains  came.  They 
are  to  reach  him  in  good  condition." 

"And  where  do  you  stop?" 

"That  is  for  the  police  to  say.     1  travel  for  Paschkin." 

The  motherly  eyes  had  been  scanning  him  closely 
and  had  found  him  good.  There  was  no  young  man 
in  Selemsinsk,  or  anywhere  in  that  district,  to  approach 
him,  —  did  she  not  know  them  all  by  heart,  such  as 


THE  LONG  ROAD  47 

they  were,  —  and  much  as  one  might  love  one's  daugh- 
ters, their  future  had  to  be  thought  of. 

"You  could  stop  here,"  said  Mrs.  Totsin,  with  her 
eyes  on  his  face.  And  she  saw  the  light  that  shot  into 
it  at  the  suggestion. 

"But  will  it  trouble  you?" 

"Nay,  you  can  have  Katia's  bed  and  the  girls  can 
go  together.  Varia's  man  is  away  to  Yeniseisk.  She 
only  came  for  Katia's  company.  She  can  go  home  if 
needs  be." 

"If  you  are  sure.  I  would  like  it  if  —  but — " 
stammered  Stepan,  rosy  red  through  his  tan  at  the 
thought. 

"Yes,  you  will  stop,"  said  she,  liking  him  the  better 
every  minute. 

And  so  Stepan  found  himself  next  door  to  heaven 
that  night. 


CHAPTER  XI 

VISITORS  such  as  this  were  rare  in  Selemsinsk,  and 
they  all  sat  up  so  late  talking  that  at  last  the  chief  of 
police  thumped  good-humouredly  on  the  door  and 
asked  them  what  mischief  they  were  plotting,  so  long 
after  all  good  citizens  were  in  bed. 

"  I  travel  for  Paschkin,"  laughed  Stepan,  as  the  chief 
came  in  and  consented  to  sip  a  glass  of  vodka. 

"His  name  covers  much,  they  say.  Thank  God 
he  is  five  hundred  miles  away." 

"He  has  a  long  arm  and  a  strong  one.  Our  good 
old  Dolgourof  was  easier  to  get  on  with." 

"Without  a  doubt.  You  had  no  troubles  on  the 
road?" 

"None.     Paschkin's  name  was  sufficient." 

He  told  them  all  they  could  ask  about  Irkutsk,  and 
expanded  on  the  growth  of  the  city  and  its  riches, 
and  the  beauty  of  the  Angara  valley  and  Lake  Baikal 
and  its  surroundings.  And  they  gave  him  all  the  news 
they  had  got  from  passing  traders.  And  Katia  sat 
in  a  corner  listening,  and  watching  Stepan  when  he 
was  not  looking  cat  her,  and  wondering  at  it  all,  and 
liking  him  more  and  more. 

And  he  knew  she  was  there,  though  she  was  as  quiet 

as  a  mouse,  and  he  knew  when  she  was  looking  at 

48 


THE  LONG  ROAD  49 

him,  and  it  was  only  by  most  resolute  effort  that  he 
could  keep  his  eyes  off  her.  And,  now  and  again, 
when  he  thought  she  was  not  looking,  he  could  not 
hold  his  eyes  any  longer,  and  then  their  glances  would 
meet,  and  Katia's  would  fall,  and  her  face  would 
redden  with  confusion  at  being  caught,  and  she  would 
try  not  to  look  at  him  again  for  a  very  long  time,  and 
then,  when  she  did  take  a  covert  peep,  he  was  sure 
to  be  looking  at  her.  And  that  joyful  hunger  was 
still  in  his  eyes,  and  now  she  was  beginning  to  under- 
stand it. 

When  Totsin  and  his  wife  were  in  bed  that  night, 
she  whispered  to  him,  "He  wants  our  Katia." 

And  Totsin,  whose  thoughts  had  been  more  of  his 
horses  than  his  daughter,  and  who  had  seen  in  Stepan 
only  Paschkin's  messenger  who  had  come  to  take 
them  away,  said,  "The  devil!" 

And  Stepan?  Young  Stepan  hardly  slept  a  wink 
that  night. 

He  lay  awake  turning  over  and  over  in  his  mind 
the  whole  amazing  matter.  And  he  thanked  God, 
as  his  mother  had  taught  him,  for  bringing  it  about, 
and  was  even  grateful  to  Paschkin  for  his  share  in 
it;  and  that  was  probably  the  only  occasion  on  which 
any  man  was  ever  grateful  to  Paslhkin  for  anything 
in  the  whole  course  of  his  life. 

Amazing,  indeed,  was  the  difference  the  last  few 
hours  had  made  in  Stepan's  outlook.  He  shook  him- 


50  THE  LONG  ROAD 

self  and  pinched  himself  at  times  to  make  certain  he 
was  not  dreaming. 

He  had  found  his  little  Katenka!  And  he  knew 
that  if  he  had  been  able  to  follow  her  growth  in  his 
mind  through  all  these  years  and  to  forecast  her  looks, 
he  would  have  wished  her  just  what  she  was. 

The  shy,  impulsive,  generous  child  had  grown  into 
the  modest,  warm-hearted  maiden.  A  girl  with  eyes 
and  face  like  that  could  not  but  be  good,  and  he  knew 
she  was  as  good  as  she  was  beautiful. 

And  here  he  was  in  the  pretty  bird's  own  nest.  He 
caught  his  breath  at  thought  of  it  and  went  hot  all 
over.  It  was  a  sacred  place  to  him  —  a  holy  of  holies. 
A  bare  little  sanctuary,  in  truth,  up  under  the  roof, 
with  sloping  sides  and  one  small  window  in  the  gable, 
and  but  roughly  furnished,  but  it  was  clean  as  a  bone, 
and  sweet  and  fragrant  by  her  use. 

That  big  black  chest  held  her  clothes  — the  end 
of  a  ribbon  had  got  shut  outside  when  she  hastily 
cleared  the  room  for  him.  A  tiny  ikon  in  one  corner 
told  of  her  devotions.  Her  soft,  bare  feet  trod  this 
well-scrubbed  floor.  This  was  her  bed.  How  won- 
derful she  was !  How  sweet !  How  beautiful !  And 
her  eyes !  They  set  him  on  fire.  And  her  hair !  It 
was  more  than  ever  like  the  halo  of  a  saint.  There 
never  was  any  girl  like  her  in  this  world  before !  He 
buried  his  hot  face  in  the  pillow  and  vowed  his  life  to 
her  happiness. 


THE   LONG  ROAD  51 

And  once  a  terrible  thought  took  hold  of  him.  Sup- 
pose she  should  die  in  the  night  —  now,  just  when  he 
had  found  her !  But  he  shook  it  off.  She  had  looked 
all  right  when  he  bade  her  good  night  —  hale  and  well 
and  happy,  though  not  without  a  touch  of  rosy  confusion 
about  her.  Perhaps  he  had  looked  at  her  too  much. 
Perhaps  she  did  not  like  being  looked  at  like  that. 
But,  bozhe-moi,  how  could  a  man  help  it  when  she  was 
so  wonderfully  good  to  look  at  ? 

He  wondered  if  she  knew  what  was  in  him.  He 
thought  she  must  have  seen.  It  seemed  to  him  that  his 
eyes  must  have  blazed  the  news  to  her.  He  wondered 
she  had  not  heard  his  heart  thumping  her  name,  — 
"Katia,  Katia,  Katia!" 

But  he  would  go  slowly,  slowly,  so  as  not  to  frighten 
her.  He  had  days  before  him.  He  must  keep  remem- 
bering that,  though  he  had  known  her  every  day  for 
twelve  years,  she  had  known  him  for  but  part  of  a 
day. 

He  wondered  if  there  was  any  other  man,  and  turned 
cold  at  the  thought.  And  then  he  remembered  her 
laughing,  "Whom  should  I  have  married?"  and  mused 
upon  it  and  took  heart  again. 

And  once  he  marvelled  briefly  at  the  wonder  of  so 
sweet  a  flower  on  Totsin's  stem.  But  there,  roses  grew 
among  thorns.  Her  mother  had  kind  eyes,  and  a  good 
face,  and  a  warm  heart,  and  he  decided  that  Katia 
took  after  her. 


52  THE  LONG  ROAD 

And  though  he  was  weary  with  his  long  journey,  and 
hardly  slept  a  wink  all  night,  he  was  hungry  for  daylight 
and  another  sight  of  his  little  Katenka  in  the  blushing 
face  of  this  wonderful  new  Katia. 


CHAPTER  XII 

KATIA  had  on  a  different  dress. 

Stepan  could  not  have  told  you  just  where  the  differ- 
ence came  in,  but  he  knew  that  she  looked  very  much 
alive  and  prettier  than  ever. 

Her  mother  noticed  it,  but  she  only  smiled  to  her- 
self. 

Vasili  Vasilievitch  was  thinking  of  his  horses  and 
what  he  would  do  with  his  five  hundred  roubles.  In 
spite  of  his  grumbling  at  the  price,  the  money  would 
be  very  useful.  Roubles  were  never  too  plentiful  with 
him.  He  was  not  nearly  so  smart  a  business  man  as  he 
thought  himself,  and  his  horse-dealing  had  not  so  far 
done  more  than  provide  his  family  with  a  fairly  com- 
fortable living. 

Varia  was  busy  with  her  baby.  She  smiled  now  and 
then,  in  a  knowing,  matronly  fashion,  at  Katia  and 
Stepan,  but  she  had  not  much  to  say. 

"They  are  up  in  the  bend  of  the  river,"  said  Totsin, 
suddenly,  overlooking  the  fact  that  he  was  following  out 
a  train  of  thought  of  which  he  alone  was  cognizant. 
"When  shall  I  bring  them  in ?  How  long  — " 

"Paschkin  gave  me  sixteen  days,  or  a  day  or  two 
more  if  necessary,"  said  Stepan,  thoughtfully.  "I  came 

53 


54  THE  LONG  ROAD 

in  five.  Bozhe-moi',  it  took  us  nearly  two  months  to 
walk  it  last  time !  I  could  stop  three  or  perhaps  even 
four,  if — "and  he  looked  anxiously  across  at  Mrs. 
Totsin,  and  gathered  the  signs  of  Katia's  face  at  the 
same  time  without  looking  at  it. 

"Nu,  then!  Stop  if  you  can,"  said  Mrs.  Totsin, 
heartily.  "It  is  a  long  journey,  and  we  don't  have 
visitors  every  day." 

"And  I  have  never  been  farther  than  Baikal  since  we 
came  through  here  before.  I  shall  be  glad  to  stop  if 
you  are  sure  — "  and  this  time  he  looked  at  Katia. 

"We  shall  be  glad  if  you  will  stop,"  she  smiled,  and 
Paschkin  himself  would  hardly  have  moved  him  after 
that. 

"Will  you  care  to  see  the  horses?"  asked  Totsin,  as 
he  got  up  to  go  out. 

"Nay,  I  shall  see  quite  enough  of  them  before  I'm 
done  with  them.  I  will  rest  if  I  may." 

"Did  you  sleep?"  asked  Marya  Feodorovna,  hos- 
pitably. 

"  I  did  not  sleep  much." 

"  Da,  then  !  Were  you  not  comfortable  ?  Was  the 
bed—" 

"The  most  comfortable  bed  I  ever  saw  in  my  life. 
But  my  head  was  full  of  thoughts  and  they  would  not 
sleep." 

"So  !  Well,  you  will  rest  during  the  day.  Sit  there 
in  the  corner  by  the  stove  and  you  will  not  be  in  our 


THE   LONG  ROAD^  55 

way,"  and  she  smiled  knowingly  to  herself  as  she  went 
about  her  work,  and  Stepan  thought  what  a  nice  face 
she  had. 

"And  what  part  did  you  come  from?"  asked  Marya 
Feodorovna,  over  her  shoulder,  as  she  washed  the  dishes 
and  passed  them  on  to  Katia  to  dry. 

"We  are  from  Kazan." 

"Ah,  you  are  of  the  Russki.  So  am  I.  I  am  from 
Kostroma,  not  so  very  far  from  your  country.  But  my 
man  is  of  the  Rosniaki.  He  comes  from  Voronej. 
You  are  tall  for  a  north-countryman." 

"  It  was  the  transplanting,  I  think.  I  am  bigger  than 
my  father  now." 

"He  must  be  a  good  craftsman.  We  know  his  name 
even  here." 

"He  is  a  good  man  and  so  his  work  is  good.  He 
gives  his  best  always." 

"That's  the  way  to  get  a  name  and  make  money." 

"We  are  always  busy." 

"And  you  help  him?" 

"Yes,  and  we  have  five  men  besides,  and  could  do 
with  more,  but  skilled  men  are  not  to  be  found,  they  have 
to  be  trained." 

"And  your  mother?  You  take  after  her,  I'll 
be  bound.  A  good  son  generally  means  a  good 
mother." 

"And  a  good  daughter?  There  is  no  one  like  my 
mother  —  unless  it  might  be  yourself.  She  has  a  warm 


56  THE  LONG  ROAD 

heart  and  a  good  face,  as  you  have,"  at  which  Marya 
Feodorovna  laughed  agreeably. 

"And  you  are  the  only  one?"  she  asked  presently. 

"I  am  the  only  one.  There  has  never  been  any  but 
me." 

"And  how  did  you  know  the  little  one  when  you  saw 
her  after  all  these  years?" 

"I  knew  her  the  moment  I  saw  her  face  in  the  light. 
Did  I  not  now?"  he  appealed  to  Katia. 

"Truly,  you  stared  at  me  as  if  you  would  eat  me," 
she  laughed  rosily. 

"It  was  strange  you  should  know  her  again,  for  she 
was  only  a  small  thing  then,  and  you  had  but  a  glimpse 
of  her.  And  besides  you  were  not  much  bigger  your- 
self." 

"That  was  the  very  best  cake  I  had  ever  tasted  — " 

"I  made  it  myself.  You  shall  have  another  just  like 
it  for  your  supper." 

"There  never  could  "be  another  just  like  it.  I  mean, 
to  taste  just  like  it.  For,  you  see,  I  was  half  starving, 
and  very  cold  and  miserable,  and  the  way  was  always 
long  and  cold.  And  little  Katenka's  hot  cake,  and  the 
way  she  gave  it  to  me,  and  her  bright  rosy  face  were  all 
such  cheer  to  me  that  I  could  think  of  nothing  else. 
They  warmed  me  up  whenever  I  thought  of  them,  and 
they  made  the  way  short,  and  took  the  cold  out  of  the 
mud.  I  could  see  her  face  again  whenever  I  thought  cf 
her,  and  I  kept  on  thinking  of  her  all  the  time.  And 


THE  LONG  ROAD  ^  57 

when  we  settled  down  in  Irkutsk  I  saw  her  face  still. 
When  I  went  into  the  forge  I  saw  it  in  the  glow  of  the 
fire.  And  I  saw  it  outside  in  the  trees  and  in  the  river. 
It  was  always  with  me.  And  I  wondered,  as  I  drove 
along  over  the  steppe,  wherever  Katenka's  village  could 
be,  for  they  all  seemed  the  same  when  we  were  on  the 
road,  and  I  did  not  even  know  its  name.  And  then  I 
came  to  the  house  here,  and  as  soon  as  I  saw  Katia's 
face  in  the  light  I  saw  little  Katenka's  face  inside  it, 
and  it  nearly  struck  me  dumb.  But  I  knew  her  in  a 
moment.  Did  I  not  now?"  he  asked  Katia  again. 

"I  thought  you  were  crazy,"  laughed  Katia. 

"  Bozhe-mo'i,  it  was  enough  to  make  any  one  feel  a  bit 
crazy,"  said  her  mother,  heartily,  with  a  well-pleased 
look  at  Stepan's  eager  face  and  sparkling  eyes. 

Yes,  he  was  an  honest  lad,  she  said  to  herself,  and  if  it 
was  so  that  he  wanted  their  girl,  she  would  not  be  the 
one  to  oppose  him. 

"And  you,"  she  said  to  her  daughter,  "had  you 
any  thought  who  he  was?  You  did  not  know  him 
again?" 

"But  he  was  all  mud  when  I  saw  him  before,  and  I 
could  hardly  see  his  face,"  said  Katia,  in  extenuation. 

"It  is  true.  He  was  truly  very  muddy.  You  were 
holding  on  to  your  mother's  gown  and  she  had  a  good 
face.  It  made  me  sorry  I  had  nothing  more  to  give,  but 
the  first  comers  had  got  all.  Why  were  you  sent  out?" 

"I  heard  Paschkin  ask  my  father  the  other  day,  and 


58  THE  LONG  ROAD 

my  father  said:  'Irkutsk  needed  men.  I  took  snuff/ 
And  then  Paschkin  asked  him  if  he  still  took  snuff  and 
he  said,  'Yes/  and  the  Governor  named  him  for  his 
council.  It's  a  queer  world." 

"Ay,  truly!  My  man  was  sent  out  for  using  reins 
when  he  drove,  and  here  if  he  had  a  rein  to  every  hair, 
they  would  take  no  notice." 

"His  horses  would,"  said  Stepan,  which  set  Katia 
laughing  more  than  the  saying  seemed  to  warrant. 

She  was  so  extraordinarily  pretty  when  she  laughed 
in  that  way  with  the  abandonment  of  a  child  that  Stepan 
wished  he  could  think  of  something  else  like  that,  so 
that  he  could  make  her  go  on  laughing.  But  if  you 
had  asked  Katia  why  she  laughed  so,  she  could  not  have 
told  you.  If  he  had  told  them  anything  sad,  she  would 
have  cried  just  as  readily. 

Varia  went  out  with  her  baby  to  see  her  father-in-law, 
who  was  lying  ill  a  few  doors  away.  They  had  all  been 
in  there  the  night  before  when  Katia  ran  to  fetch  them. 

Katia  and  her  mother  busied  themselves  about  the 
rooms,  and  Stepan's  eyes  followed  the  girl's  lissome  figure 
and  springing  step  with  rapt  delight.  Deft  of  hand, 
light  of  foot,  graceful  as  a  mountain  birch,  and  sweeter 
of  face  even  than  the  little  Katenka  of  his  dreams,  his 
heart  swelled  to  overflowing  as  he  watched  her. 

He  wondered,  wondered.     For  his  time  was  so  short. 

How  was  it  possible  that  she  could  care  for  him? 
Bozhe-moi,  she  had  only  known  him  a  few  hours,  though 


THE  LONG  ROAD  59 

LA 

of  course  he  had  known  her  half  his  life.  But  the 
thought  of  parting  from  her,  now  that  he  had  found  her, 
was  not  to  be  borne.  His  heart  curdled  inside  him  at 
the  possibility,  and  the  pain  was  so  great  that  he  had  to 
grind  his  teeth  and  clench  his  hands.  He  could  not 
leave  her.  He  could  not.  He  could  not.  And, 
bozhe-moi,  he  said  to  himself  —  he  would  not. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

MARYA  FEODOROVNA  went  out  on  some  household 
affairs,  and  at  last  Katia,  having  done  everything  that 
had  to  be  done,  and  some  of  it  twice  over,  for  the  tumult 
of  her  feelings  which  set  her  to  fearing — hoping —  Da 
—  she  could  not  tell ! — expecting,  in  any  case,  that  some- 
thing out  of  the  common  might  happen  if  she  rested  for 
a  moment.  For  she  knew  all  that  was  in  him  as  well 
as  if  it  had  been  printed  on  his  face,  and  it  was  truly 
sudden,  you  see. 

She  had  to  come  to  the  stove  at  last  to  overlook  some 
of  her  cooking.  Her  short  skirt  swung  against  the  leg 
of  his  boot.  The  feel  of  it  shot  tingling  right  up  into 
his  heart  and  on  into  his  brain.  It  intoxicated  him. 

He  could  plunge  through  a  thorn  brake  in  those  big 
boots  and  feel  nothing  of  it,  but  the  touch  of  Katia 's 
swinging  skirt  set  his  blood  jumping. 

If  Natalie  and  Nadeja  and  Masha  at  home  had  gone 
down  on  their  knees  and  kissed  his  boot,  he  would  have 
felt  nothing  but  pity  for  their  foolishness.  But  the  touch 
of  Katia 's  unconscious  skirt  against  it  was  enough  to 
thrill  him  through  and  through.  Da,  but  it  was  odd. 
He  could  not  understand  it. 

Her  face  was  bent  absorb edly  over  the  pot,  as  if  her 
60 


THE  LONG  ROAD  61 

mind  was  intent  on  it  and  nothing  else.  But  she  knew 
quite  well  what  was  in  him,  and  the  little  hand  that  lifted 
the  lid  trembled  in  spite  of  her,  and  she  bit  her  lip  to 
keep  it  quiet. 

He  could  not  stand  it.  His  heart  felt  as  if  it  would 
burst  into  a  thousand  pieces.  He  jumped  up  so  sud- 
denly that  the  lid  of  the  pot  fell  with  a  clatter. 

"Katia!  Katia!"  he  cried,  with  both  his  hands 
stretched  eagerly  towards  her,  almost  touching  her.  "  I 
must  tell  you.  My  heart  is  crying  out  for  you.  It  is 
sick  for  you.  I  have  thought  of  none  but  you  for 
all  these  years.  Could  you  trust  me?  Could  you  — 
could  you — "  and  he  choked  with  the  very  vehe- 
mence of  his  feelings. 

But  his  eyes,  and  his  face,  every  quivering  bit  of  him, 
spoke  more  eloquently  than  all  his  words. 

For  a  moment  they  looked  deep  into  one  another's 
eyes,  and  Katia  knew  that  she  could  trust  this  man  to 
the  death,  and  that  she  had  his  whole  heart. 

And  suddenly  she  was  strong  again.  The  trembling 
had  passed.  She  was  uplifted,  too.  Her  heart  drew  to 
his.  She  clasped  her  hands  in  his. 

"Yes,"  she  said.     "I  can  trust  you." 

And  with  a  cry  he  drew  her  to  him  and  kissed  her  to 
his  heart's  content. 

"  Do  you  know  what  it  means  ?"  he  asked  her  at  last, 
gazing  eagerly  down  into  the  sweet  flushed  face. 

"Yes,  I  know.     You  will  want  me  to  go  with  you." 


62  THE  LONG  ROAD 

"You  are  more  to  me  than  my  father  or  my  mother, 
or  life  itself,  my  Katia.  All  my  whole  life  shall  be  for 
your  happiness." 

"I  will  go  with  you,  Stepan  Ivanovitch." 

"Now,  God  be  thanked  for  His  goodness!"  and  he 
kissed  her  again  and  again. 

And  while  he  was  at  it  Mrs.  Totsin  came  in. 

"Ach,  so!"  said  she  heartily,  and  in  no  way  sur- 
prised. "  So  you  have  come  together,  you  two.  I  knew 
you  must.  It  was  surely  ordered  so." 

"And  you  will  not  say  us  nay,  Marya  Feodorovna?" 
asked  Stepan,  with  his  arm  round  Katia  as  if  he  would 
never  let  her  go  again. 

"Who  shall  say  nay  when  God  says  yea?"  said 
Mrs.  Totsin.  "All  the  same,  you  will  have  to  settle  it 
with  Totsin." 


CHAPTER  XIV 

"BozHE-Moi,  but  you  have  lost  no  time,"  grumbled 
Vasili  when  he  came  in  from  his  expedition  after  the 
horses. 

"  I  have  none  to  spare,  you  see.  Needs  must  when  the 
devil  drives  —  or  Paschkin." 

"You  will  take  her  with  you?'7 

"Of  a  surety.  I  lost  her  for  twelve  years.  We  will 
part  no  more  this  side  death." 

"And  what  are  we  to  do  without  her?'' 

"  She  must  have  married  when  the  time  came.  Thank 
God,  it  did  not  come  before  me !  My  life  would  have 
been  but  half  a  life." 

"  But  to  take  her  away  to  the  other  end  of  the  world !" 

"It  is  but  five  days  to  Irkutsk." 

"It  is  the  end  of  the  world  to  some  of  us.  First  you 
take  my  horses  at  half  their  proper  price,  and  now  you 
would  take  my  daughter." 

"It  was  Paschkin  sent  me." 

"Paschkin  didn't  send  you  for  our  Katia." 

"Ay  did  he,  without  a  doubt,  though  he  did  not  know 
it.  And  —  "  with  a  happy  laugh  —  "his  very  last  words 
to  me  were,  'If  any  man  refuse  you  anything  you 
need,  I  will  hang  him  from  his  own  lintel.'  And  I  need 

63 


64  THE   LONG  ROAD 

Katia,"  at  which  Marya  Feodorovna  broke  also  into 
hearty  laughter. 

"He  is  the  Devil  —  that  Paschkin  !"  growled  Totsin. 

"Put  away  thy  evil  humour,  Vasili  Vasilievitch,"  said 
his  wife.  "This  was  meant  to  be,  as  I  told  thee  last, 
night.  The  good  God  led  him  here  without  a  doubt, 
and  we  may  not  set  ourselves  against  His  will." 

"Nu,  then  !    If  you  are  all  against  me  - 

And  that  was  how  Stepan  Iline  won  Katia  Vasilievna 
for  his  wife. 


CHAPTER  XV 

THE  days  that  followed  were  days  of  rare  delight  to 
Stepan,  and  not  less  to  Katia,  and  to  all  of  them  days 
charged  with  affairs  of  the  greatest  moment. 

For  Katia  must  not  leave  her  father's  house  unpro- 
vided, and  opportunities  for  shopping  were  limited. 

By  an  undoubtedly  heaven-sent  chance,  however, 
there  came  jogging  into  the  village  an  old  Jew  trader, 
with  his  wagon  load  of  goods  such  as  the  country  women 
loved.  He  called  there  in  his  regular  round  twice  every 
year,  and  his  coming  had  always  been  one  of  the  events 
of  Katia's  life.  For,  even  if  one  could  not  buy,  one  could 
always  see,  and  his  packs  were  treasure-houses  of  de- 
light —  to  be  thought  about  and  talked  about  for  weeks 
after  he  had  gone,  and  to  be  longed  for  till  he  came  again. 
And  now  —  either  by  instinct  or  by  chance,  or  led 
thereto  by  the  same  special  providence  which  had 
brought  Stepan  Iline  straight  to  her  door  —  the  old 
Jew  came  just  when  he  was  wanted. 

He  gauged  the  situation  in  two  minutes  and  advanced 
his  prices  to  meet  it  in  one.  This,  he  judged,  would 
hardly  be  a  time  —  even  if  the  exigencies  of  the  case  had 
permitted  of  it  —  to  haggle  over  kopeks,  though,  in  the 

ordinary  course  of  things,  that  was  a  diversion  in  which 
F  65 


66  THE   LONG  ROAD 

Marya  Feodorovna's  soul  delighted,   and  she  was  a 
master  hand  at  it. 

But  he  might  have  known  Mrs.  Totsin  after  all  these 
years.  Time  indeed  pressed,  Katia'?  hours  at  home 
were  numbered,  and  there  was  much  to  be  done.  But, 
levying  uncompromisingly  on  the  purchase-money  for 
the  blacks,  which  Stepan,  under  the  circumstances,  did 
not  hesitate  to  advance  on  her  husband's  account, 
Marya  Feodorovna  raked  over  the  Jew's  packs  with 
an  enjoyment  she  had  not  experienced  since  she  was  a 


J  Jilany  the  times  she  had  hung  over  them  with  long- 
ing eyes,  restricting  herself  to  the  absolutely  necessary, 
and  letting  obvious  bargains,  for  which  she  had  no 
present  use,  go  by  with  a  sigh.  But  here,  for  once,  she 
felt  she  might  let  herself  go.  Katia  must  be  furnished. 
And  that  wonderful  providence  which  had  brought  both 
Stepan  Iline  and  old  Peter  Krop  along  just  at  the  right 
time  had  not  failed  also  to  provide  her  with  means. 

Totsin,  indeed,  attempted  a  remonstrance  in  favour 
of  his  roubles,  but  she  routed  him  with  a  wordo 

And  if  old  Peter  Krop  expected  her  eyes  to  be  as  full 
of  love  mists  as  were  pretty  Katia's,  he  found  himself, 
for  once,  mistaken. 

Marya  Feodorovna  prepared  herself  for  battle.  She 
dangled  her  roubles  before  his  eyes,  belittled  his  judg- 
ment as  a  buyer,  made  contemptuous  hay  of  his  stock 
in  general,  and  miscalled  his  choicest  morsels.  In  the 


THE   LONG   ROAD  67 

u 

unusual  position  of  a  wholesale  purchaser  for  cash,  she 
offered  him  prices  that  apparently  made  his  flesh  creep 
and  the  perspiration  run  down  his  beard.  The  neigh- 
bours gathered  round  to  enjoy  the  fray,  and  it  was  only 
behind  closed  doors  in  the  seclusion  of  the  house,  and 
after  binding  her  to  inviolable  secrecy  in  the  matter, 
that  Peter  and  she  at  last  came  to  an  understanding. 
And  she  was  so  well  pleased  with  herself  that  she  in- 
sisted on  the  Jew  partaking  of  food  with  them,  greatly 
to  the  disgust  of  Vasili  Vasilievitch,  who  saw  himself 
being  plundered  on  all  sides,  —  horses,  daughter, 
roubles,  and  now  food  to  a  Jew,  who,  if  he  knew  anything 
about  Jews, —  and  he  did, —  was  without  doubt  making 
a  profit  of  fifty  per  cent  at  least  on  all  they  bought,  no 
matter  what  he  said  to  the  contrary. 

And  truly,  in  spite  of  his  goose-flesh  and  his  cold 
sweats,  Peter  Krop  went  on  his  way  chuckling.  And 
so  all  parties,  except  Vasili,  were  satisfied. 

The  neighbours,  to  a  woman,  threw  up  all  but  abso- 
lutely necessary  household  matters  and  came  in  to  help, 
and  for  the  next  two  days  the  Totsin  house  was  a  hive 
of  industry  and  a  very  parrot-house  for  chatter.  The 
big  samovar  was  steaming  from  morning  till  night,  and 
there  was  tea  enough  drunk  to  float  a  small  ship.  And 
Vasili  Vasilievitch  betook  himself  to  the  house  where  a 
withered  bush  hung  over  the  door,  and  met  there  all 
the  other  deserted  husbands,  and  came  home  each  night 
complacently  bemused,  shaking  his  head  solemnly  as 


63  THE  LONG  ROAD 

if  the  problem  of  life  were  still  beyond  him,  and  then 
lay  down  and  went  quietly  to  sleep. 

And  Katia  went  about  among  them  with  a  red- rose 
face  and  a  conscious  look,  somewhat  raised  with  all 
this  bustle  of  which  she  was  the  cause  and  centre,  but 
visibly  happy,  and  looking  forward  with  eagerness  and 
wonder  to  the  larger  life  that  had  opened  so  suddenly 
before  her. 

Stepan,  for  his  part,  lived  those  days  in  the  clouds. 
He  fetched  and  carried  for  them  all ;  handed  round  tea 
as  if  he  were  promoting  a  conflagration  or  helping  to 
quench  one ;  and  kept  Katia  in  sight  as  much  as  possi- 
ble, lest  any  one  should  run  away  with  her,  or  any  other 
untoward  thing  should  come  to  her,  and  because  the 
very  sight  of  her  made  him  feel  twice  the  man  he  was 
at  any  other  time. 

So  rich  and  full  of  the  joy  of  life  was  he,  that  it  lighted 
his  eyes,  and  shone  in  his  face,  and  set  every  other  girl 
in  the  village  envying  Katia,  and  made  the  more  ex- 
perienced married  ones  think  back  to  the  times  when 
they  too  had  seen  a  man's  face  like  that  and  for  them. 

And  some  of  them  nodded  knowingly  and  smiled  as 
they  bit  their  threads,  and  some  sighed  quietly  to  them- 
selves and  said  in  their  hearts :  "  Ay,  ay,  it's  good  to  be 
young.  They've  found  their  bit  of  heaven,  but  they'll 
bump  on  the  earth  again  as  we  have  done." 

And  Varia,  from  her  experience  of  a  year  of  married 
life,  gave  her  sister  copious  matronly  hints  on  the  treat- 


THE  LONG  ROAD..  69 

ment  of  husbands,  but  acknowledged,  somewhat  for- 
lornly, that  this  radiant  young  giant  from  the  east  was 
different  from  her  own  absent  Dmitri,  who  was  kind 
enough  and  good-humoured,  but  easy-going  and  indo- 
lent, and  not  likely  ever  to  cut  a  very  deep  streak  in  the 
world. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

ON  the  fourth  day  they  were  married,  in  the  little 
white  church  with  its  green  needle  of  a  spire,  and  every 
soul  in  the  village  came  to  the  wedding. 

It  was  a  great  occasion,  and  the  old  priest  with  his 
long  white  hair  and  patriarchal  beard  gave  them  much 
fatherly  counsel,  and  finally  pronounced  them  man  and 
wife,  and  Stepan  gave  his  blushing  wife  the  marital  kiss 
and  thanked  God  with  all  his  heart  for  the  gift  of  her. 

Totsin  was  there  with  as  good  a  grace  as  his  wife 
had  been  able  to  instil  into  him;  but  it  was  Marya 
Feodorovna  herself  who  had  seen  to  all  the  details,  — 
the  candles,  the  rings,  the  crowns,  the  carpet,  the  hot 
wine  and  water,  everything  just  as  it  should  be,  and 
as  it  would  have  been  in  the  old  country.  For  her 
big  motherly  heart  had  taken  Stepan  into  it.  She 
liked  him  better  every  hour.  Something  within  her, 
which  was  all  her  true  self,  told  her  that  he  was  the 
right  man,  and  she  gave  her  daughter  to  him  without 
a  moment's  misgiving. 

Then,  as  far  as  the  house  would  hold,  everybody 
crowded  in  to  the  wedding  feast,  which  Marya  Feo- 
dorovna and  Katia  and  Varia  and  some  of  the  neigh- 
bours had  been  up  till  daylight  preparing. 

70 


THE  LONG  ROAD,*  71 

And  soon  after  midday  the  whole  village  was  wav- 
ing and  shouting  farewells  and  good  wishes,  and  the 
younger  folks  running  after  them  for  many  last  words, 
as  they  drove  away  at  a  gallop  with  their  merry  bells 
clashing  and  many  a  backward  look  and  wave.  And 
Paschkin's  mettlesome  blacks,  prancing  white-eyed 
in  the  rear,  wondered,  perchance,  why  the  village  folk 
were  so  mighty  glad  to  be  rid  of  them. 

"We  will  come  again  to  see  you  all,"  was  Stepan's 
last  word,  as  he  shook  the  reins.  And  little  any  of 
them  thought  how  next  they  would  come. 

For  they  lived  in  the  days  of  Paschkin. 

It  was  only  when  the  dust  had  settled,  and  the  very 
last  far-away  clash  of  the  bells  had  died,  that  Katia's 
mother  turned  away  and  went  into  a  room  by  herself 
and  had  a  hearty  cry,  which  did  her  a  world  of  good. 
For,  bozhe-moi,  one  does  not  give  away  such  a  girl  as 
Katia  every  day,  and,  besides,  she  had  been  working 
full  stretch  for  many  days  on  end,  and  she  felt  like  a  rag. 

Stepan,  looking  round  into  his  wife's  face,  found 
tears  on  her  long  lashes,  and  with  one  glance  ahead 
to  see  that  all  was  clear,  he  bent  and  kissed  them  away. 

"Wilt  find  another  mother  over  there,  my  Katia," 
he  said  quickly.  "And  she  will  love  thee  as  thine 
own.  She  has  been  urging  me  to  marry  for  long 
enough,  —  this  girl  and  that,  —  no  matter  which, 
only  she  longed  to  see  me  married.  And  I  had  no 
heart  for  any  of  them,  and  now  I  know  why.  It  was 


72  THE  LONG  ROAD 

all  waiting  for  thee.  Thou  wilt  have  two  mothers  and 
two  fathers  and  a  husband.  Art  rich,  my  little  one. 
And  she  is  the  best  mother  in  the  world,  like  thine  own, 
and  her  only  wish  will  be  to  make  thee  happiest  of 
the  happy.  And  for  me,  God  has  been  so  good  to 
me  that  I  cannot  but  wonder  what  I  have  ever  done 
to  deserve  it  all.  He  shall  have  of  my  best  and  thou, 
also,  core  of  my  heart!"  and  he  drove  his  three 
with  one  strong  hand,  and  slipped  the  other  arm 
round  her  and  drew  her  close. 

He  had  thought  the  woods  wondrously  beautiful 
as  he  came,  but  now  they  blazed  beyond  all  knowledge, 
fiery  crimson  and  flaming  yellow,  with  matted  under- 
growths  of  dark  unchanging  green;  and  still,  in  the 
hollows  of  the  steppe  and  the  swampy  places  of  the 
woods,  the  wild  flowers  lingered  lovingly  as  though 
waiting  to  see  them  pass.  And  when  they  reached  their 
stopping-place  for  the  night,  Katia  was  almost  lost 
among  the  blooms  he  had  gathered  and  piled  in  her  lap. 

"Nu,  then,  hast  done  thine  errand  for  Paschkin?" 
said  their  host,  looking  from  Katia  to  the  blacks. 

" Those  are  for  Paschkin,"  said  Stepan.  "This 
is  my  wife." 

"Hast  lost  no  time  on  the  business." 

"When  one  travels  for  Paschkin,  you  understand," 
said  Stepan,  with  a  joyous  laugh,  and  when  he  had  led 
Katia  into  the  house,  he  saw  to  the  safe  bestowal  of 
Paschkin 's  horses,  which  the  man  came  along  to  admire 


THE  LONG  ROAIL  73 

while  his  wife  admired  Katia  inside  and  plied  her  with 
many  questions. 

Day  after  day,  with  full  hearts,  they  sped  across  the 
steppe  and  threaded  the  hills.  And  now,  among  other 
discoveries  he  found  that  Katia  could  sing  like  an  angel, 
and  her  clear,  sweet  voice  chimed  better  with  the  bells 
than  his  did ;  but  he  must  always  sing,  too,  because  he 
could  not  help  it. 

And  so,  right  joyously,  they  swept  along  towards 
Irkutsk ;  and  never,  sure,  since  time  began,  were  hearts 
more  sweetly  tuned  to  love,  nor  ever  world  more 
beautiful.  For  is  not  all  the  world  made  all  anew  for 
every  pair  of  happy  lovers? 

It  was  all  so  new  and  delightful  to  her  —  to  be  made 
so  much  of,  she  who  all  her  life  had  been  ministering 
to  others.  In  everything  to  be  his  first  and  chief 
concern;  to  be  so  carefully  wrapped  and  folded 
against  the  cold;  to  be  half  buried  each  day  in  the 
only  gifts  he  could  find  to  give  her,  the  flowers  and 
leaves  which  seemed  to  blaze  the  brighter  for  their 
coming  end. 

"Art  as  careful  of  me  as  if  I  were  a  baby,  or  the  six- 
year  Katenka  of  thy  dreams,"  she  laughed,  at  their 
first  hill,  when  he  would  have  had  her  sit  still  while 
he  got  out  and  walked. 

"Art  more  to  me  than  all  the  babies  in  the  world, 
and  for  me  there  is  but  one  Katenka,"  he  said,  with  a 
look  that  let  his  heart  through. 


74  THE   LONG  ROAD 

But  she  sprang  out  of  her  wrappings  like  a  hare  out 
of  her  forme,  and  took  the  road  beside  him.  And  they 
went  up  the  hill  with  his  arm  round  her  waist  and  hers 
round  his,  and  found  it  good,  and  vowed  that  all  life's 
hills  they  would  climb  in  that  same  way.  And  all 
their  five  horses  watched  them  with  rolling  eyes  and 
craning  necks,  for  never  had  they  seen  grown  people 
act  like  this  before,  and  fine  tales  they  had  to  tell 
that  night  when  they  stood  with  the  rest  in  their 
stalls. 

Without  a  doubt  they  would  have  been  content  to  go 
on  like  this  for  ever,  wandering  through  a  dreamland 
of  delight  with  all  their  wants  provided  for.  But  Pasch- 
kin  waited,  and  all  roads  end. 

And  when,  on  the  seventh  day,  they  struck  the  An- 
gara, and  saw  Tunka's  shining  crown  above  the  lower 
hills,  Katia  grew  sober  and  thoughtful.  For  the  time 
for  new  meetings  was  drawing  near.  She  could  not 
but  wonder  how  Stepan's  mother  and  father  would 
greet  their  son's  unknown  and  unexpected  wife,  and 
she  shrank  somewhat  from  the  ordeal. 

Stepan  saw  it  in  her  instantly  and  rallied  her  gaily, 
enlarging  so  upon  their  goodness  of  heart  and  desire 
for  his  marriage,  that  he  succeeded  in  almost  reassuring 
her. 

He  had  matters  of  his  own  to  think  of  also,  but  he 
would  not  let  them  cloud  his  high  spirits. 

He  had  succeeded  in  his  errand,  and  Paschkin  could 


THE  LONG  ROAD  75 

not  but  be  satisfied.  The  blacks  were  there,  safe  and 
sound,  and  in  excellent  condition,  and  this  was  the 
sixteenth  day  since  he  left  home. 

He  must  deliver  the  horses  to  Paschkin  before  he 
went  home  or  did  any  other  thing.  And  that  entailed 
taking  Katia  to  the  Governor's  house  —  and  possible 
explanations. 

Could  Paschkin  find  fault  with  him  on  Katia 's 
account  ? 

Hardly,  he  thought,  since  she  had  in  no  way  jeopar- 
dised the  success  of  his  journey.  But  then  —  Paschkin 
was  Paschkin,  and  one  never  knew. 

However,  he  would  not  harbour  forebodings.  He 
had  done  his  duty  and  Paschkin 's  bidding  —  and  he 
had  got  Katia. 

They  swung  across  the  pendulum  ferry,  and  every 
man  aboard  the  boat  gathered  round  the  blacks  with 
loud,  admiring  comments. 

Then  they  were  on  the  dusty  road  again,  and  at 
last  they  drew  up  at  the  Governor's  door. 

Paschkin  was  away,  had  been  away  a  week,  with  all 
his  available  forces  and  such  unwilling  volunteers  as  he 
could  impress  at  short  notice,  giving  a  lesson  in  deport- 
ment to  a  tribe  of  Mongols  who  had  crossed  the  border 
south  of  Baikal  and  raided  his  territory. 

Stepan  decided  to  keep  the  blacks  in  his  own  hands 
until  he  could  deliver  them  into  Paschkin's,  and  drove 
gaily  home  in  great  content. 


CHAPTER   XVII 

KATIA'S  timid  heart  needed  not  to  have  wasted  one 
tiniest  flutter  in  doubt  of  her  welcome.  And  deepest 
thought  and  most  skilful  of  diplomacy  could  not  have 
paved  her  way  to  their  hearts  as  did  Stepan's  ingenuous 
introduction. 

"  Matushka,"  he  cried,  as  he  sprang  out  of  the  tarantas 
and  flung  his  arms  about  his  mother's  neck  and  kissed 
her  heartily,  "here  is  one  thou  shouldst  love,"  and  he 
helped  the  blushing  Katia  down  and  led  her  in.  "  Dost 
remember  the  little  Katenka  who  gave  me  her  hot 
supper-cake  one  black  day  on  the  road  long  ago?" 

"Bozhe-moi'!  Do  I  not?"  said  his  mother,  with 
kindling  eyes  and  face  full  of  expectancy  and  admira- 
tion. 

"This  is  she,  and  we  are  wedded." 

And  Katia  found  herself  in  as  loving  an  embrace  as 
her  own  mother  could  have  given  her.  And  when  they 
unlocked,  the  eyes  of  both  were  full  of  happy  tears. 

"Now  I  am  glad.  I  am  glad,"  said  Marya  Petrovna, 
and  her  voice  told  it.  "In  all  the  world  thou  couldst 
not  have  chosen  one  to  please  me  better,  my  son." 

"Hast  often  wondered  why  I  waited  and  would  none 

of  thy  Irkutsk  maids,  little  mother.     'Twas  for  this, 

76 


THE   LONG  ROAD  77 

without  doubt,  though  I  did  not  know  it  properly  my- 
self." 

"It  is  a  marvel,"  said  his  mother,  glowing  upon  them. 

And  to  Katia:  "He  never  ceased  to  think  of  thee, 
I  know,  for  I  have  heard  him  whisper  'Katenka'  in 
his  sleep  and  smile  at  thought  of  thee.  I  can  see  the 
little  Katenka  in  thy  face—" 

"I  saw  it  the  moment  my  eyes  lighted  on  her,"  said 
Stepan,  joyously. 

And  then  his  father  came  hurrying  in  from  the  forge, 
and  all  the  wonderful  news  had  to  be  told  over  again, 
and  he  gave  her  greeting  as  hearty  as  his  wife  had  done, 
if  somewhat  more  restrained. 

And  Katia's  heart  was  satisfied.  She  had  left  father 
and  mother  and  home  for  Stepan's  sake.  But  here  was 
no  loss,  for  she  had  found  the  new  love  no  whit  less 
warm  than  the  old. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

WHILE  they  housed  the  blacks  with  care,  Iline  gave 
his  son  brief  word  of  matters  that  had  occurred  in  his 
absence. 

"He  is  rightly  called  the  Devil,  this  Paschkin,"  he 
said  tersely.  "But  it  is  not  right  that  such  a  man,  or 
any  man,  should  have  such  powers.  When  he  is 
thwarted,  he  is  no  longer  a  man.  He  is  a  wild  beast. 
He  is  a  devil.  His  council  is  a  farce  to  make  other  men 
bear  the  burden  of  his  doings.  Ostroff  is  on  the  way  to 
Yakutsk—" 

"To  Yakutsk!"  gasped  Stepan.  For  Yakutsk  was 
the  uttermost  hell  of  exile,  where  men  mouldered  in  the 
icy  cold  of  filthy  native  huts,  sans  friends,  sans  hope, 
sans  everything.  And  Ostroff  had  been  their  friend. 

"And  the  little  Nadeja?" 

Iline  shook  his  head.  "God  knows!  —  and  maybe 
the  devil,  and  without  doubt  —  Paschkin." 

"And  why?" 

"It  was  in  the  matter  of  the  tax.  Ostroff  stood 
against  the  increase.  He  is  on  the  road  to  Yakutsk, 
and  the  tax  is  raised." 

"  Then,  under  Paschkin,  one  may  not  think." 

"Only  as  Paschkin  thinks." 
78 


THE  LONG  ROAD  79 

"And  you?" 

"I  do  not  think  out  loud.  I  am  too  old  for  another 
transplanting." 

"Maybe  he  will  come  to  an  end  among  these  Mon- 
gols." 

"Life  would  be  the  brighter,  but — "  and  he  shook 
his  head  unhopefully.  "He  has  forced  some  to  go  with 
him, — Biritzef,  and  Pascal,  and  Anukof." 

"And  Anukof  but  newly  married,"  jerked  newly- 
married  Stepan. 

"He  is  gone  all  the  same.  Paschkin's  hand  is  heavy. 
He  wants  us  to  feel  it  and  lie  quiet  under  his  heel." 

"He  is  the  Devil,  as  they  say.  The  fear  of  him  is 
abroad.  I  found  it  everywhere  as  I  journeyed." 

"The  day  you  left  he  killed  a  Cossack  with  his  own 
hand.  The  man  was  insolent,  he  said.  He  struck 
him  with  his  fist  just  here,  — "on  the  temple,  —  "and 
he  went  down  like  an  ox." 

"Life  will  be  none  too  easy  while  he  lives,"  said 
Stepan,  with  a  gloomier  face  than  he  had  worn  for 
years,  for  now  he  had  a  mighty  stake  in  life. 

"We  must  go  warily  and  give  him  no  occasion  against 
us,"  said  his  father,  quietly. 


CHAPTER    XIX 

IT  was  another  ten  days  before  Paschkin  returned 
from  his  chastisement  of  the  marauders.  He  did  it  so 
effectually  that  there  was  no  likelihood  of  incursion  in 
that  direction  for  a  generation  at  least. 

As  soon  as  Stepan  heard  he  had  come,  he  hastened  to 
rid  himself  of  his  weighty  charge. 

The  blacks  were  in  splendid  condition,  and  looked 
wondrously  fine  as  he  led  them  to  the  Governor's  house. 

Paschkin  came  out  to  see  them  at  once. 

"I  was  just  about  to  send  for  thee,  Iline,"  he  growled. 
"What  hast  been  doing  with  my  horses?" 

"Keeping  them  safe  against  your  Excellency's 
return,  so  that  you  should  be  assured  I  had  quitted 
myself  well." 

"Hast  ridden  or  driven  them?"  while  his  keen  eye 
roved  over  the  jetty  skins. 

"They  have  neither  been  ridden  nor  driven  since 
they  came  into  my  hands,  Excellency." 

"And  how  long  did  you  take?" 

"I  was  back  here  on  the  sixteenth  day,  Excellency." 

"You  did  better  than  you  feared,"  said  Paschkin, 
with  a  growling  laugh.  "Who  was  the  owner?" 

"One  Totsin,  who  deals  in  horses." 
80 


THE  LONG  ROAD.  81 

"And  he  took  the  price?" 

"He  vowed  they  were  worth  double,  Excellency, 
but  —  he  took  the  price,"  at  which  Paschkin's  grim 
laugh  growled  again. 

"And  hadst  no  difficulties  on  the  road?  None  as- 
piring to  the  noose?" 

"None,  Excellency.  Your  Excellency's  name  suf- 
ficed." 

And  Paschkin  regarded  young  Stepan  favourably  and 
as  one  upon  whom  he  could  rely. 


CHAPTER    XX 

KATIA  found  her  new  home  all  that  Stepan  had 
pictured  it,  and  more. 

Over  and  above  the  great  fact  of  Stepan  himself  and 
his  love  for  her,  which,  far  from  waning,  seemed  to  grow 
with  the  months,  she  found  here  greater  comfort  than 
Selemsinsk  had  ever  been  able  to  afford  her. 

For  Vasili  Totsin  was  not  the  man  to  make  any  great 
success  of  life.  If  at  times  he  did  well  in  his  bargaining, 
and  managed  to  overreach  some  one  of  those  with  whom 
he  dealt,  he  himself  was  subject  to  similar  treatment; 
and  if  he  had  the  freedom  of  the  steppe  for  his  horses, 
he  was  also  thereby  open  to  strokes  of  ill  luck  from 
prowlers  on  four  legs  and  on  two.  And,  finally,  from  the 
very  nature  of  his  business,  he  was  not  accustomed  to 
the  discipline  of  that  hard  and  regular  work  which 
braces  a  man  mentally,  morally,  and  bodily. 

There  is  something,  surely,  in  the  clang  of  hammer  on 
anvil,  in  the  wielding  of  the  sledge,  in  the  straight  de- 
livery of  honest  blows,  which  draws  out  and  builds  up 
the  best  that  is  in  a  man.  A  smith  is  rarely  a  rogue. 

And  so  Katia  found  a  somewhat  ampler  atmosphere 
in  her  new  home,  and  bloomed  in  it  as  a  flower  trans- 
planted to  a  richer  soil. 

82 


THE  LONG  ROAD.,  83 

Stepan's  mother,  Marya  Petrovna,  rejoiced  in  her 
more  and  more,  and  made  no  concealment  of  it.  The 
desire  of  her  life  was  like  to  be  fulfilled,  and  she  gave 
her  new  daughter  fullest  entrance  to  the  warmth  of  her 
large,  warm  heart.  She  would  not  hear  of  them  living 
apart.  The  house  was  large  enough  for  them  all,  — 
ay,  and  for  children,  too,  she  laughed  happily,  —  so  they 
lived  together  in  great  content,  and  Katia  and  Marya 
Petrovna  shared  the  household  duties  between  them. 

There  was  no  happier  home  in  all  Irkutsk  in  those 
days  than  that  green-shuttered  house  by  the  busy  forge. 
Since  his  transplanting  Ivan  Iline  had  been  more 
given  to  thought  and  hard  work  than  to  speech.  Since 
his  unwished-for  appointment  to  Paschkin's  council  the 
faculty  of  silence  had  grown  upon  him. 

He  gauged  the  position  clearly.  Paschkin  was  all 
powerful.  Opposition  was  futile.  The  utmost  one 
could  hope  for  was  to  escape  notice  and  be  left  in  peace. 
It  was  not  perhaps  heroic,  but  it  was  natural.  He  had 
suffered  one  violent  uprooting.  He  had  no  smallest 
desire  for  another. 

Honest  and  unremitting  work  had  brought  with  it  a 
certain  measure  of  prosperity.  His  son  was  happily 
married.  He  delighted  in  Katia  as  much  as  his  wife 
did,  though  he  showed  it  less.  He  was  perfectly  happy 
and  contented.  But  he  knew  that  they,  and  all  the  rest, 
lived  in  a  tiger's  cage,  and  that  their  happiness  might 
be  shattered  any  moment  by  a  stroke  of  the  tiger's  claw. 


CHAPTER    XXI 

IN  the  compassing  of  his  own  ends  and  the  attainment 
of  his  own  objects  in  life,  Paschkin  knew  no  scruples. 

He  had  crept  upward  until  he  could  climb ;  but  once 
his  foot  was  on  the  ladder,  and  he  had  shown  at  Peters- 
burg what  he  was  made  of,  he  had  climbed  rapidly, 
and  was  now  very  near  the  top. 

In  Irkutsk  he  was  absolute,  and  all  men  bent  before 
him  —  almost.  Wine  of  the  richest,  and  in  quantity 
unlimited,  was  his  to  command.  If  he  chanced  upon 
a  horse  that  rivalled  his  own,  he — acquired  it.  Women 
—  ah,  there  he  had  checks  in  Irkutsk  such  as  he  had  not 
met  with  elsewhere,  and  it  was  in  that  respect  that  his 
absolutism  suffered  flaws. 

In  his  tigerish,  capricious,  masterful  way,  he  could 
be  almost  winning,  this  conscienceless  Paschkin. 
To  some  women  it  had  appealed  to  have  their  favours 
sought  by  one  before  whom  all  men  quailed  —  for- 
getting, or  purposely  closing  their  eyes  to  the  undis- 
putable  fact  that  tiger  is  tiger  still,  though  he  sheathe 
his  claws  and  play  and  purr. 

For  a  very  long  time  Stepan,  in  common  with  many 
another,  went  in  fear  lest  Paschkin  should  cast  eyes 
on  his  wife  and  so  bring  trouble.  For,  in  the  last 

84 


THE  LONG  ROAD  ^  85 

extremity,  he  —  and  many  another  —  would  not  hesi- 
tate one  moment  to  sacrifice  everything  for  those  they 
loved. 

And  so  Paschkin  —  absolute  as  he  was,  and  terri- 
fying —  learned  some  lessons,  though  the  cost  was 
heavy. 

Their  friend  Anukof  had  been  taken  by  Paschkin 
to  help  chastise  the  Mongols.  He  had  been  left  chaf- 
ing on  the  frontier  in  a  small  command.  Ill  news  flies 
wide,  however,  One  day  Anukof  came  home,  mud- 
stained,  wild-eyed,  his  post  deserted.  Home !  He 
found  his  home  broken  up,  his  young  wife  gone. 

Paschkin  heard  of  his  arrival,  but  he  was  no  coward. 
He  went  about  as  usual,  but  guarded,  and  on  his  guard. 
Nevertheless,  as  he  drove  in  his  sledge  one  twilight,  a 
man  flung  himself  in  front  of  the  horses,  grasped  the 
shafter's  nose  till  it  reared  and  squealed,  and  in  the 
confusion  another  man  dashed  at  Paschkin  and  drove 
a  long  knife  through  his  furs  deep  into  his  breast. 

"  Pound  him  to  death,"  growled  Paschkin  to  his 
Cossacks,  through  the  blood  in  his  throat  —  "and  the 
other!" 

And  when  they  passed  on  with  the  wounded  man,  two 
bodies,  battered  out  of  all  knowledge  with  the  butts  of 
muskets,  lay  in  the  snow, — Anukof  and  his  wife's  father. 

That  was  lesson  the  first.  But  Paschkin  was  ill  to 
teach. 

Twice  again,  with  intervals  given  to  recovery  and 


86  THE   LONG  ROAD 

subsequent  backsliding,  similar  things  happened. 
Then  Paschkin  recognised  the  temper  of  the  men  of 
Irkutsk,  and  learned  a  measure  of  outward  prudence 
in  certain  directions ;  and  those  who  died  won  a  meas- 
ure of  immunity  for  the  rest. 

But  the  curbing  of  Paschkin  in  one  direction,  through 
the  imminence  of  death  at  the  hand  of  outraged  hus- 
band or  father  or  brother,  had  but  the  effect  of  stimu- 
lating his  vicious  caprice  in  others.  His  absolutism 
knew  no  bounds.  Men's  lives  and  liberties  were  of 
no  account  with  him.  When  the  mood  was  on  him, 
and  always  when  he  was  thwarted,  or  deemed  himself 
so,  he  dealt  with  men  as  a  headstrong  child  with  its 
toys  —  smashed  them  and  flung  them  away. 

The  wonder  was  that  he  was  permitted  to  live,  either 
by  the  men  of  Irkutsk  or  a  just  God.  But  live  he  did, 
and  prospered  in  his  way,  and  spread  himself  like  a 
green  bay  tree. 

In  Petersburg  he  was  esteemed  a  model  governor. 
His  province  was  quiet,  his  contribution  to  the  ever- 
gaping   treasury   always    prompt    and    satisfactory - 
a  vast  improvement  on  the  easy-going  Dolgourof. 

How  Paschkin  gathered  the  tribute  —  what  agonies 
and  sweatings  of  blood  the  tale  of  roubles  might  repre- 
sent —  was  nothing  to  them.  Money  was  the  life-blood 
of  the  empire,  as  represented  by  the  bureaucrats  at 
headquarters,  and  the  empire  must  live,  no  matter 
who  died  in  the  process. 


THE  LONG  ROAD^  87 

And  custom  inures  men  to  any  environment.  The 
men  —  and  by  degrees  and  in  time  even  the  women  — 
of  Irkutsk  came  to  regard  Paschkin  as  a  natural  evil, 
like  the  plague  or  the  fever,  to  be  suffered  as  best  one 
might. 

Men  live  on  the  slopes  of  Etna  and  Vesuvius,  and 
eat  and  drink  and  are  merry;  and  if  the  mountain 
awake  and  spout  fire  and  devour  of  their  company, 
the  rest  build  anew  on  the  same  spot  and  live  on  as 
before.  So  with  the  men  of  Irkutsk. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

IVAN  ILINE  suffered  mightily  in  spirit  by  reason  of 
his  appointment  to  Paschkin's  council. 

The  instinctive  respect  of  the  moujik  for  those  in 
authority,  however  brutally  misused,  and  still  more 
the  bitter  remembrance  of  his  own  previous  uprooting, 
inclined  him  to  patient  endurance.  Resistance  had 
but  one  ending.  His  chilled  blood  was  often  on  the 
boil,  but  he  thought  of  his  wife,  and  of  Stepan  and 
Katia,  and  kept  a  stolid  face,  though  it  was  bitter  hard 
work  at  times. 

His  business  prospered,  but  he  would  not  have  it 
prosper  unduly  lest  it  become  a  mark  for  envy.  They 
lived  very  simply,  but  in  all  comfort  and  content,  and 
the  house  was  a  happy  one,  though  it  stood  on  the  slope 
of  a  volcano. 

Within  a  year  of  Stepan's  marriage,  Marya  Petrov- 
na's  cup  was  filled  to  overflowing  by  the  arrival  of  a 
daughter  to  the  happy  Katia.  She  was  declared  by 
all  to  be  the  very  image  of  what  her  mother  must  have 
been  at  the  same  age,  —  the  same  blue  eyes  and  fair 
hair,  which  would  both  grow  darker,  the  very  same 
nose  and  mouth,  the  mothers  declared,  though  Stepan 
searched  the  crumpled  rose  leaf  of  a  face  hopefully  in 

83 


THE  LONG  ROAD  89 

vain,  and  vowed  they  were  right  to  please  them,  trust- 
ing that  time  would  add  grace  to  his  vision. 

They  named  her  Katia,  of  course,  and  called  her 
little  Katenka,  and  she  filled  all  their  hearts.  Her 
grandmother,  in  particular,  worshipped  her,  and  vowed 
there  never  had  been  such  another  since  her  own  little 
Stepan  was  born.  Had  not  her  heart  hungered  for 
this  for  years?  And  now  the  long-pent  love  spent 
itself  unstintedly  on  the  little  one,  and  Katia  would 
laughingly  declare  that  Marya  Petrovna  grudged  her 
the  use  of  her  own  baby.  And,  truly,  Marya  was 
only  perfectly  happy  when  it  was  in  her  arms  or  on 
her  knee. 

Meanwhile  the  affairs  of  the  State  rolled  ponderously 
on,  grinding  some  to  powder  and  leaving  empty  places, 
maiming  others,  spilling  still  others  into  outer  darkness. 

But  so  far  calamity  had  passed  Iline  by.  He  almost 
dared  to  hope  at  times  that  evil  fortune  was  satisfied 
with  his  former  undoing  and  required  no  more  of  him. 
Nevertheless  he  walked  warily  and  suffered  all  things 
in  unmoved  silence. 

Paschkin,  by  reason  of  his  silence  and  quiet  endur- 
ance of  evil,  had  come  to  regard  him  as  a  man  of  pru- 
dence and  sagacity.  Iline  rarely  spoke  and  never 
thwarted  him.  What  better  councillor  could  an  auto- 
crat desire? 

So,  through  the  very  qualities  of  self-restraint  and 
self-effacement  which  had  commended  him  to  the 


9o  THE   LONG  ROAD 

Governor,  that  which  he  had  thereby  sought  to  escape 
came  upon  him. 

The  largest  single  contribution  to  the  Irkutsk  tribute 
came  from  the  Verkinsk  silver  mines.  It  was  an  im- 
portant item  to  the  exchequer. 

Under  Dolgourof  it  had  never  failed  to  come  —  sooner 
or  later;  though  at  times  the  delay  had  been  so  great 
that  a  further  amount  was  due  before  the  former  one 
was  paid. 

Verkinsk  lay  six  hundred  miles  away  to  the  north, 
in  a  difficult  mountainous  country.  Impassable  roads, 
and  unrestrainable  rivers,  to  say  nothing  of  occasional 
roving  bands  of  natives,  had  palliated  all  delays,  until 
Paschkin  came. 

On  the  first  default,  Paschkin  gave  the  authorities 
in  Verkinsk  to  understand  clearly  that  he  and  Dol- 
gourof were  built  on  entirely  different  lines.  He 
threatened,  if  their  laxity  could  find  no  other  cure,  to 
hang  one  of  their  number  for  each  day  the  convoy  was 
in  arrears. 

The  second  half-yearly  amount  arrived  a  week 
before  its  time,  and  Paschkin  chuckled  grimly.  The 
next  was  now  a  week  overdue  and  Paschkin  was 
furious.  If  it  did  not  arrive  in  a  day  or  two,  there 
would  be  no  directors  of  mines  left  in  Verkinsk. 

But  Paschkin  was  not  of  a  waiting  temper.  He  cast 
round  among  his  councillors  for  the  best  man  for  his 
purpose,  and  each  man  shrank  within  himself,  and 


THE  LONG  ROA*)  91 

blessed  his  holy  angels  when  the  baleful  eye  passed 
him  by. 

"  You,  Iline,"  he  decided.  "  You  are  doer,  not  talker. 
You  shall  be  Paschkin  at  Verkinsk  and  hang  whom 
you  will.  Right  man  or  wrong,  it  will  smarten  the  rest. 
You  will  start  at  once,  within  the  hour.  You  will  make 
all  speed  to  Verkinsk  and  inquire  into  the  delay.  The 
convoy  may  have  started.  You  may  pass  it  on  the  road. 
No  matter.  It  is  seven  days  behind  time,  and  by  my 
word  seven  of  them  should  hang — and  shall,  if  you 
so  decide.  It  will  take  you  ten  days  to  go  and  ten  to 
return.  I  give  you  ten  days  there.  Whomsoever, 
after  inquiry,  you  hang  will  hang  for  five  days  as  a 
lesson  to  the  rest,  and  you  will  bring  back  the  heads 
of  those  you  hang,  for  my  satisfaction." 

A  hideous  errand  and  full  of  risks  —  and  those  of  the 
road  the  smallest.  But  there  was  no  escape  from  it. 
Departure  held  chances.  Refusal  was  tantamount  to  a 
death-warrant. 

So  Ivan  Iline  went  heavily  home  while  Paschkin  got 
ready  his  papers. 

"What  is  it,  my  man?"  asked  Marya  Petrovna, 
anxiously,  at  sight  of  her  husband's  face. 

"  Paschkin  orders  me  to  Verkinsk  to  inquire  into  the 
delay  in  the  convoy." 

"  Bozhe-mo'i  —  Verkinsk ! "  she  cried  aghast.  "  That 
is  a  journey !  When  ?  " 

"Now." 


92  THE  LONG  ROAD 

And  she  and  Katia,  with  little  Katenka  cooing  in  the 
crook  of  her  arm,  began  his  instant  preparations  for 
the  road. 

He  went  into  the  forge  to  speak  to  Stepan  about  the 
work  in  his  absence. 

"Could  I  not  go  in  your  place?"  asked  Stepan  in- 
stantly when  he  heard. 

"Nay,  my  son,  Paschkin  would  not.  Nor  would  I. 
I  go  to  hang  men,  by  his  orders  — " 

"But  you  will  not,"  said  Stepan,  incredulously. 

"I  am  to  bring  back  their  heads  as  proof." 

"He  is  a  devil,"  said  Stepan,  fervently.  "And  we  are 
in  his  hands." 

"And  God's,"  said  his  father. 

"God  is  in  heaven  and  the  Tzar  is  very  far  away. 
Which  horses  do  you  take?" 

"  The  bay  and  the  roan.  Paschkin 's  name  will  pro- 
cure me  others." 

"Without  doubt,"  said  Stepan,  in  the  recollection  of 
his  own  travelling  on  Paschkin 's  business.  "But,  all 
the  same,  it's  a  terrible  journey.  I  will  at  all  events  go 
with  you." 

"Nay,  they  will  need  you  here.  If  any  ill  comes  to 
me—" 

"God  help  us!"  said  Stepan,  hotly.  "If  any  ill 
comes  to  you,  I  will  — " 

"You  will  look  after  your  mother  and  your  wife  and 
the  child,"  said  his  father,  quietly. 

And  within  the  hour  he  was  gone. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

THE  days  passed  and  they  followed  him  in  their 
hearts. 

They  were  anxious  days,  and  their  happiness  was 
clouded.  For,  though  six  hundred  miles  were  of  no 
very  great  account  in  that  land  of  illimitable  distances 
and  unlimited  time ;  and  though  ten  days'  travel,  under 
reasonable  conditions,  would  compass  them  easily, 
the  six  hundred  miles  to  Verkinsk  bristled  with  dan- 
gers, —  of  the  road,  which  in  places  was  not ;  of  the 
rivers,  which  were;  and  of  the  roving  bands  of  half- 
civilised  Tunguses  whose  cupidity  no  indefinite  fears 
of  possible  punishment  could  restrain. 

On  the  tenth  day  they  said,  "He  should  be  about 
there." 

But  each  anxious  heart  whispered  to  itself,  "If 
no  ill  has  befallen  him."  And  Marya  Petrovna's 
thoughts  wandered  gloomily  at  times,  even  when  her 
arms  rejoiced  in  the  feel  of  little  Katenka. 

Stepan  and  Katia  kept  cheerful  faces  for  her  sake, 
but  there  was  a  weight  on  their  hearts  which  would  not 
lighten  till  Iline  should  appear  in  the  doorway. 

On  the  twelfth  day  the  Verkinsk  convoy  arrived,  and 
their  hearts  beat  hopefully  at  the  thought  that  he  might 
have  returned  with  it. 

93 


94  THE  LONG  ROAD 

Stepan  hurried  off  to  see.  He  found  two  of  the  leaders 
dangling  like  horrible  tassels  from  the  projecting  eaves 
of  the  Governor's  house.  They  had  had  nothing 
whatever  to  do  with  the  delay  in  the  starting  of  the 
convoy,  but  they  were  here,  and  the  culprits  were  in  Ver- 
kinsk.  They  had  fallen  into  the  hand  of  Paschkin, 
and  the  opportunity  of  impressing  the  rest  with  the 
weight  of  it  was  not  to  be  missed.  The  story  would 
reach  Verkinsk. 

The  others  were  trembling  in  their  boots  and  their 
wits  were  troubled.  Stepan  questioned  them  anxiously, 
one  after  another,  but  could  get  no  word  of  his  father. 
There  was  choice  of  routes  in  places,  some  being  judged 
less  precarious  than  others  for  the  laden  telegas.  They 
might  have  passed  him  on  some  such  loop.  He  would 
probably  have  chosen  the  quickest  with  his  light  taran- 
tas.  They  spoke  briefly  of  much  water  out,  and  snow 
among  the  hills. 

The  snow  might  help  him,  Stepan  thought,  if  only  it 
lay  deep  enough.  He  could  change  his  tarantas  for 
a  sledge  and  make  better  way.  Nevertheless  he  would 
have  liked  news,  and  it  was  all  he  could  do  to  build  a 
hopeful  report  at  home  on  so  slight  a  foundation. 

On  the  twentieth  day  they  said,  "He  is  starting  for 
home,"  and  tried  their  best  to  believe  it.  But  they 
avoided  looking  into  one  another's  eyes  lest  their  own 
should  betray  them,  and  Marya  Petrovna's  motherly 
face  grew  somewhat  pinched  in  spite  of  herself. 


THE  LONG  ROAP  95 

Then  time  came  when  hope  grew  in  them  again, 
and  they  said,  "In  two  days  he  will  be  here." 

Then:  "He  should  be  here  to-day,  but  if  he  is  not, 
there  is  no  need  to  be  anxious.  It  is  a  long  journey, 
and  the  roads  are  bad." 

But  the  day  passed  and  they  could  do  no  work.  They 
could  only  look  out  for  him,  all  day  long,  and  wait,  and 
strive  to  keep  their  hearts  from  sinking  and  their  faces 
from  betraying  their  fears. 

They  had  a  feast  ready  for  him,  to  make  good  the 
discrepancies  of  the  road.  But  it  was  wasted.  He  did 
not  come,  and  they  had  no  heart  for  it. 

They  went  to  bed  saying:  "He  will  come  to-morrow. 
It  would  have  been  really  surprising  if  he  had  come 
to-day." 

But  they  none  of  them  slept,  not  even  little  Katenka, 
for  she  was  cutting  a  tooth. 

And  when  the  next  night  came,  and  still  no  news 
of  the  traveller,  Marya  Petrovna's  face  was  gray  and 
drawn,  and  she  had  no  words  even  for  little  Katenka. 
If  she  had  opened  her  mouth  it  was  a  sob  that  would 
have  come  out,  so  she  pinched  her  lips  and  kept  it  in 
her  heart. 

And  the  next  day  passed,  and  the  next,  and  now  they 
had  only  fears  to  brood  upon.  They  had  done  their 
best  to  keep  alive  their  little  sparks  of  hope,  but  their 
lamps  were  empty  and  the  last  sparks  died. 

"I  go  to  Paschkin,"  said  Stepan,  abruptly,  on  the  fifth 


96  THE  LONG  ROAD 

day,  and  he  went,  with  set  and  sombre  face.  The 
women  looked  at  one  another,  and  fell  on  one  another's 
necks  and  wept.  For  the  truth  was  out  and  fear  was 
upon  them. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

"An,  Stepan  Ivanovitch,  it  is  thou !  What  of  thy 
father?"  growled  Paschkin,  when  Stepan  gained  au- 
dience of  him  at  last. 

"We  are  beginning  to  fear  for  him,  Excellency." 

"Fear?    Fear  what?" 

"We  know  not,  Excellency.     But  he  has  not  come." 

"He  has  overpassed  his  time.  But  the  roads  are  bad 
and  the  water  is  out,  they  say.  We  will  give  him  two 
more  days." 

"And  if  he  does  not  come — " 

"Well?" 

"I  would  go  seek  him,  Excellency." 

"Seek  him  where?" 

"Between  here  and  Verkinsk." 

"  Da,  it  is  a  long  road  !  But  thou  art  a  great  traveller. 
Well,  thou  canst  go." 

"And  your  Excellency  will  give  me  authority  for 
the  road?" 

"  Come  in  two  days,"  growled  Paschkin,  and  Stepan 
went  heavily  home  to  make  his  preparations  for  the 
journey. 

"Must  thou  go,  Stepan?"  asked  Katia,  white-faced, 

and  shadowy  about  the  eyes,  when  he  told  her  that  night. 
H  97 


98  THE  LONG  ROAD 

"  What  can  I  else,  little  Katenka  ?  "  he  said,  smoothing 
her  hair  as  she  clung  to  him  as  though  she  would  not 
let  him  go.  "He  may  be  lying  sick  at  Verkinsk,  or 
somewhere  on  the  road.  Some  ill  has  befallen  him  or 
he  would  be  here.  To  know  even  the  worst  will  be 
better  than  not  to  know." 

"Yes,  thou  must  go,"  she  said,  with  desperate  resig- 
nation. "Thy  mother's  heart  is  eating  itself  with  fore- 
bodings. But  thou  wilt  use  every  care,  Stepan?  If 
thou  should'st  not  return  — "  and  her  voice  broke  in  a 
sob. 

"I  will  use  every  care,  little  one,  and  thou  must 
cheer  the  mother  while  I  am  away." 

"Little  cheer  will  I  have  myself  till  I  see  thy  face 
again,"  she  said  forlornly.  And  he  knew  it  must  be 
so,  yet  felt  that  his  duty  was  to  go. 

The  two  days  passed  in  added  gloom,  and  on  the 
third  Stepan  started  on  his  journey,  with  Paschkin's 
authority  for  horses  where  they  were  to  be  had,  and  as 
companion  young  Feodor  Sabine  out  of  the  forge. 

It  left  them  very  short-handed  there,  only  three  men 
and  old  Paul  who  acted  as  foreman,  where  seven  were 
now  none  too  many  as  a  rule.  But  Feodor  had  grown 
up  with  Stepan,  and  this  was  a  journey  on  which  one's 
life,  and  the  lives  of  those  who  were  dearer  than  one's 
own,  might  depend  on  the  mettle  of  one's  companion. 

Katia  clung  to  her  husband  at  the  last  as  though  she 
repented  her  submission  to  duty.  He  put  her  into  his 


THE   LONG  ROAD  u  99 

mother's  arms  and  kissed  both  their  streaming  faces 
again  and  again,  and  the  last  thing  he  saw  was  little 
Katenka  merrily  waving  a  pink-sucked  thumb  at  him 
over  their  bowed  heads. 

And  when  the  sound  of  his  bells  had  died  away,  the 
sorrowful  mothers  knelt  before  the  image  in  the  corner, 
and  prayed  brokenly  for  his  safe  return  —  more  they 
scarcely  dared  to  ask.  And  little  Katenka  pointed  the 
pink-sucked  thumb  over  her  mother's  shoulder  at  the 
holy  image,  and  said,  as  she  had  been  taught,  "God  !" 


CHAPTER  XXV 

FOR  seven  days  Stepan  and  his  companion  were  able 
to  follow  the  trail  from  house  to  house  where  Iline  had 
changed  his  horses. 

At  the  first  stop  they  found  the  bay  and  the  roan  with 
which  he  started,  and  took  them  on  to  the  next  stage. 
But  their  progress  was  slow,  for  many  times  each  day 
they  came  on  places  where  destruction  lay  in  wait  for 
an  unwary  driver,  or  one  bent  on  speed  before  all  things. 
And  each  such  place  they  searched  with  care,  and  hearts 
full  of  foreboding,  only  to  find  when  they  reached  the 
next  house  that  he  had  arrived  there  safely,  and  had 
gone  on  with  fresh  horses  which  had  never  been  returned. 

As  they  neared  Verkinsk,  Stepan's  heart  began  to 
rise  somewhat,  in  the  hope  that  they  would  find  him  at 
the  mines,  lying  sick  maybe,  or  delayed  through  some 
accident.  It  was  certain  he  had  never  come  back  this 
way. 

But  the  end  of  the  eighth  day  put  an  end  to  their 
hopes.  No  such  traveller  had  passed  there.  No 
horses  had  been  furnished.  Somewhere  between  these 
last  two  houses  Ivan  Iline  had  disappeared. 

Till  late  into  the  night  they  discussed  the  matter  with 
their  host.  He  had  heard  already  of  the  summary 

100 


THE  LONG  kOAt)  ^  101 

hanging  of  the  convoy  leaders,  and  the  dread  of  Pasch- 
kin  was  upon  him.  He  was  entirely  at  their  service  and 
an  honest  fellow  to  boot. 

"It's  a  bad  course  at  best,  is  this,"  he  told  them. 
"  Not  nearly  so  bad  now,  though,  with  the  snow  so  thick, 
as  it  was  a  month  ago  when  the  water  was  out.  They 
take  to  runners  two  stages  back  before  we  do  here, 
because  the  snow  lies  up  there,  and  here  it's  all  water  till 
it  freezes.  When  the  water's  out  you  go  for  miles  with 
it  up  to  your  horses'  bellies,  and  if  you  don't  know  the 
road,  there  are  traps  in  plenty.  Bozhe-moi,  he  may  be 
halfway  to  the  sea  by  now!"  —  which  struck  chill 
on  their  hearts. 

In  the  morning  he  turned  out  with  them,  and  they 
searched  anxiously  along  the  river  banks  for  many 
miles  downwards.  But  the  river  was  frozen  for  thirty 
feet  out  from  either  bank,  and  the  black  water  rolled 
sluggishly  between  like  an  endless  procession  of  the  dead. 
It  crept  on  and  on  remorselessly.  Those  frozen  shelves 
and  creeping  black  waters  might  hide  the  secrets  of  a 
thousand  lives  and  deaths  throughout  all  time. 

"Voi !"  said  the  farmer  at  last.  "It  is  all  no  good. 
He  is  gone  without  doubt.  You  will  see  him  no  more. 
Will  you  go  on?" 

"Yes,  I  will  go,  though  there  is  no  good  in  going. 
I  must  be  able  to  tell  Paschkin  that  he  never  reached 
Verkinsk,"  and  they  went  on,  making  perfunctory 
inquiry  as  they  went,  but  learning  nothing. 


102  THE  LONG  ROAD 

Arrived  at  Verkinsk  he  went  straight  to  the  Governor, 
and  then  to  the  chief  of  police,  and  received  from  both 
the  cold  welcome  of  an  intruder.  They  could  only  tell 
him  that  his  father  had  never  reached  Verkinsk. 

The  head  men  at  the  mines  would  hardly  open  their 
mouths  to  him.  The  fear  and  hatred  of  Paschkin  lay 
heavy  on  them  all. 

It  was  only  with  very  great  difficulty  that  Stepan  set 
their  suspicions  at  rest,  and  made  them  understand  that 
his  reasons  for  detesting  the  Governor  were  fully  as 
great  as  their  own.  He  gloomily  confirmed  their  belief 
in  Paschkin's  bedevilment,  and  heartily  agreed  with 
them  that  his  place  was  among  the  heathen,  or  better 
still,  as  one  of  them  growled,  among  the  dead. 

But  they  could  give  him  no  news  of  his  father.  They 
had  heard  that  one  had  been  sent  by  Paschkin  to  punish 
them  for  delay  in  the  convoy,  and  they  had  been  living 
in  fear  ever  since.  But  none  such  had  come,  and  they 
had  begun  to  hope  it  was  only  a  rumour.  At  sight  of 
Stepan  they  had  taken  him  for  the  messenger  of  the 
Iron  Hand  and  treated  him  accordingly. 

"I  feared  he  might  lay  some  such  duty  on  me," 
said  Stepan,  "and  he  is  an  ill  man  to  counter.  He  did 
not ;  but  if  you  will  be  advised  by  me  you  will  see  your 
convoy  well  on  its  way  before  its  time  in  future.  If  you 
do,  Paschkin  will  not  trouble  you.  If  you  do  not,  he 
will  certainly  take  toll  of  your  heads." 

They  began  volubly  to  explain  their  difficulties. 


THE  LONG  ROAD  -  103 

"Paschkin  hangs  men  first  and  hearkens  to  excuses 
afterwards,"  he  said,  and  they  took  it  to  heart. 

He  questioned  them  keenly  and  at  odd  times,  for  the 
idea  came  into  his  head  that  they  might  have  got  wind 
of  his  father's  errand  and  waylaid  him  on  the  road. 
But  he  found  nothing  to  confirm  so  villainous  a  sug- 
gestion, and  the  men  themselves  lent  no  colour  to  it. 
And,  satisfied  at  length  that  his  father  had  come  to 
sudden  calamity  between  the  seventh  and  eighth  stages, 
he  started  on  his  return  home. 

At  the  seventh  stage  he  paid  the  man  for  the  horses 
which  had  never  been  returned  to  him,  and  on  the  night 
of  the  twenty-eighth  day  he  and  Feodor  were  back  in 
Irkutsk,  having  spent  twenty- five  days  on  the  road  and 
three  in  Verkinsk. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

MARYA  PETROVNA  and  Katia  Vasilievna  welcomed 
Stepan  as  one  returned  from  the  dead.  Their  joy  at 
sight  of  him  lessened  indeed  their  grief  at  the  news  he 
brought. 

All  the  time  he  had  been  away  their  minds  had  been 
numb  with  fear  lest  they  should  be  equally  widowed 
and  wholly  bereft.  They  had  grown  almost  accustomed 
to  the  thought  of  Ivan  Ivanovitch's  death.  But  the  fear 
lest  Stepan  should  follow  him  by  the  same  road  had 
frozen  their  hearts. 

And  so,  though  there  was  sadness  of  loss  among  them, 
there  was  also  joy  of  recovery;  and  the  happiness  of 
being  safely  together  again  after  many  perils  exceeded 
all  else. 

They  sat  long  about  the  stove,  that  first  night,  and 
Stepan  told  them  all  there  was  to  tell  of  him  who  was 
gone,  which  amounted  to  so  very  little,  and  that  mostly 
supposition,  —  and  of  their  journeying,  of  the  wild 
country  they  had  passed  through,  and  of  Verkinsk  and 
its  silver  mines,  and  the  chained  men  who  toiled  in 
them. 

Marya  Petrovna  sat  silent  and  sad  through  it  all, 

and  when  he  had  ended  she  said  quietly,  "May  God 

104 


THE  LONG  ROALT  105 

requite  it  all  to  Paschkin,  for  he  sent  my  man  to  his 
death." 

On  the  morrow  Stepan  hastened  to  acquaint  the 
Governor  with  the  ill  result  of  his  quest. 

Paschkin's  dark  face  was  knitted  in  a  frown  when  he 
entered.  The  weak  joint  in  the  armour  of  the  man  who 
rules  by  fear  is  that  he  suspects  every  man  and  can  trust 
none.  Paschkin's  mind,  strong  to  brutality  as  it  was, 
had  many  perplexities.  He  scowled  unrememberingly, 
and  Stepan  saw  that  for  the  moment  he  had  no  recol- 
lection of  him  and  the  errand  on  which  he  had 
been. 

"I  am  returned  from  Verkinsk,  Excellency,"  he  said 
quietly. 

" Ah  —  the  young  Iline  !  Well  —  and  your  father? 
You  have  brought  him  with  you,  and  the  heads  of  those 
sluggards  at  Verkinsk?" 

Stepan  shook  his  head .  "  He  never  reached  Verkinsk, 
Excellency  —  " 

"Not?     Bozhe-moi,  where  did  he  go?" 

"To  his  death,  Excellency.  He  changed  horses  at 
the  seventh  stage.  He  never  reached  the  eighth.  The 
waters  were  out  and  we  found  no  trace  of  him." 

"And  the  horses?" 

"Nor  of  the  horses,  nor  of  the  men  who  were  with 
him,  Excellency.  We  searched,  with  the  men  of  the 
country,  but  we  found  nothing." 

"So  you  came  home." 


io6  THE   LONG  ROAD 

"I  went  on  to  Verkinsk,  Excellency,  to  make  sure  and 
leave  nothing  undone  — 

"  Ah  ! "  with  a  savage  gleam .  "  You  have  brought  me 
those  heads  —  " 

"I  had  no  such  instructions,  Excellency.  I  went  to 
seek  my  father  —  " 

"Fool!"  stormed  Paschkin.  "To  be  there  on  the 
spot  and  leave  the  work  undone !  You  knew  your 
father's  business,  and  that  he  had  failed  to  carry  it  out. 
Could  your  thick  head  not  stumble  to  the  thought  of 
doing  what  he  was  to  do,  and  what  you  knew  I  wanted 
done?" 

Stepan  took  grip  of  himself  and  kept  a  steady  face 
and  his  eyes  on  the  ground. 

"Away !  I  gave  thee  credit  for  brains,  but  thou  art 
but  a  lout  like  the  rest,"  and  Stepan  bowed,  and  got 
out  as  quickly  as  he  could,  thankful  for  no  worse  a 
reception,  and  in  no  wise  troubled  by  Paschkin's 
contempt  of  his  abilities.  For  Paschkin's  despisal 
was  more  like  to  make  for  a  quiet  life  than  his  appro- 
bation. 

And,  thereafter,  as  the  result  of  much  consideration 
of  the  matter,  whenever  they  came  in  contact,  Stepan 
did  his  utmost  to  assume  a  stupidity  which  was  not  in 
him,  and  for  a  time  it  answered  well  and  saved  him 
many  troubles. 

For  the  dread  of  every  man  in  Irkutsk  was  to  be 
chosen  by  the  Governor  for  his  council,  and  never  was 


THE  LONG  ROAD  107 

honour  more  strenuously  avoided.  For  service  meant 
responsibility  without  power,  bullyings  and  brow- 
beatings  without  the  possibility  of  reply,  coercion 
within  the  council,  and  obloquy  without.  But  refusal 
to  serve  entailed  still  more  certain  suffering,  and  so 
men  served  Paschkin  —  much  as  a  flock  of  sheep 
might  assist  at  the  deliberations  of  a  wolf. 

The  unanimity  of  their  agreement  with  his  ideas 
was  wonderful,  but,  under  the  circumstances,  not 
surprising.  The  mere  hint  of  a  divergence  of  opinion 
set  the  angry  jaw  working  and  the  hot  blood  boiling 
in  the  dark  red  face.  Every  proposition  his  Ex- 
cellency made  was  carried,  as  a  rule,  without  discussion 
or  a  dissentient  voice.  A  more  homogeneous  and 
unanimous  council  never  existed. 

Stepan  applied  himself  to  his  business  quietly  and 
diligently,  and  cautiously  avoided  anything  that  might 
bring  him  to  the  Governor's  notice. 

They  lived  simply  but  lacked  nothing.  The  tragic 
disappearance  of  her  husband  cast  a  shadow  on  Marya 
Petrovna  which  only  death  would  lift.  She  aged  rap- 
idly and  brooded  on  her  sorrow.  Life  had  lost  its 
flavour  for  her.  The  only  solace  left  her  was  the 
loving  solicitude  of  Stepan  and  Katia;  her  only  joy 
the  little  Katenka,  who  made  her  her  confidante  and 
playfellow,  and  grew  more  like  her  mother  every 
day. 

They  did  everything  for  the  stricken  one,  and  strove 


io8  THE   LONG  ROAD 

their  best  to  brighten  her  days.  But  the  blow  had 
been  a  mortal  one,  and  the  long  anxiety  in  which  it 
was  wrapped  had  worn  down  her  spirit. 

She  came  through  another  winter,  however,  but  the 
short  spring  and  sudden  heat  of  the  summer  seemed 
to  sap  her  strength. 

She  was  sitting  in  her  armchair  inside  the  room  one 
day  while  little  Katenka  played  and  prattled  in  and 
out  of  the  sunshine  and  the  open  door. 

"Art  thou  cold,  matushka?"  babbled  little  Katenka, 
looking  up  into  the  gray,  lined  face.  She  always  used 
the  endearing  "little  mother"  to  her  mother  and  grand- 
mother alike,  and  her  father  was  always  "papasha." 

"Yes,  my  darling  —  cold." 

"You  should  get  up  and  run  like  me.  I  am  never 
cold  because  I  run." 

"Little  feet,  little  feet,  so  cold,  so  cold,"  and  the 
worn  hands  chafed  feebly  against  one  another,  as  though 
a  pair  of  little  ice-cold  muddy  feet  were  between  them 
needing  to  be  warmed. 

"See  me  run.  I  can  run  quick,"  and  little  Katenka's 
fat  little  legs  bustled  her  through  the  doorway  so  quickly 
that  they  tangled  up  outside  and  she  fell  on  her  nose 
and  wailed  aloud. 

Her  mother  ran  out  of  the  inner  room  and  picked 
her  up  and  soothed  her.  But  nothing  would  satisfy 
little  Katenka  but  her  grandmother's  never-failing 
kiss  of  consolation  as  well. 


THE  LONG  ROAD  109 

So  they  went  babbling  to  her  chair.  But  for  the 
first  and  last  time  grannie  did  not  respond. 

Katia,  with  a  quick  look  at  the  quiet  face,  and  a 
sudden  paling  of  her  own,  picked  up  the  child  and 
ran  through  into  the  forge  for  Stepan. 

But  there  was  nothing  they  could  do.  Marya 
Petrovna  had  run  farther  and  quicker  than  little 
Katenka  for  once,  and  had  clasped  hands  again  with 
her  man  who  had  gone  on  in  front. 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

BY  the  most  rigid  observance  of  every  ordinance  of 
Paschkin,  no  matter  how  oppressive  or  unjust;  by 
payment  —  but  not  too  precipitately  punctual  pay- 
ment —  of  every  increased  tax,  no  matter  how  burden- 
some; and  by  cautious  abstinence  from  any  action 
which  might  bring  him  under  the  Governor's  notice, 
Stepan  for  a  while  lived  in  the  peace  of  obscurity. 

There  could  be  no  certain  or  lasting  security,  indeed, 
for  any  man  while  Paschkin  ruled  in  Irkutsk.  And 
many  less  able  than  Stepan  to  control  their  natural 
repugnance  at  his  brutalities,  or  less  unremittingly 
cautious  in  the  plan  of  their  lives,  yet  with  no  less  at 
stake  than  himself,  suffered  bitter  things  from  the  Iron 
Hand. 

The  very  recital  of  some  of  his  doings  made  men's 
teeth  grind  savagely,  and  set  the  blood  boiling  in  their 
heads,  and  filled  their  hearts  with  curses,  even  though 
their  faces  were  stolid  and  unmoved.  And  the  wonder 
—  the  everlasting  wonder  —  was  that  Paschkin  lived. 
That  he  did  so  was  due  to  no  lack  of  effort  on  the  part 
of  the  wronged  ones,  and  yet,  in  spite  of  all,  the  grip 
of  his  hand  grew  ever  tighter  and  the  ruthlessness 
of  his  caprice  knew  no  bounds. 


no 


THE  LONG  RO4D  in 

Polikof,  the  skin  merchant,  in  the  council  one  day, 
most  foolishly  ventured  to  state  that  their  Lake  Baikal 
had  no  communication  with  the  Eastern  Sea,  as  the 
Governor  had  assumed,  and  that  therefore  it  was  use- 
less attempting  to  push  trade  in  that  direction. 

It  was,  perhaps,  necessary  that  some  one  should 
catch  that  particular  bull  by  the  horns,  or  worse  might 
come  of  it  for  all  concerned.  Or,  better  still,  it  had 
been  subtler  wisdom  on  their  part  to  let  their  bull  run 
a  space,  even  at  some  loss  to  themselves,  until  he  found 
out  his  mistake  and,  of  course,  laid  the  blame  of  failure 
on  their  collective  shoulders.  In  any  case,  some  one 
of  them  less  burdened  as  to  family  than  Polikof  might 
have  undertaken  the  duty.  For  Polikof  had  eight 
children  and  had  lost  his  wife. 

"Ah!  Thou  thinkest  thou  knowest  Baikal,"  thun- 
dered Paschkin.  "Thou  shalt  learn  it  to  thy  heart's 
content.  On  Baikal  shalt  thou  live  henceforth,  and 
if  I  find  so  much  as  one  of  thy  feet  on  shore  it  shall  be 
cut  off." 

That  was  Paschkin  to  the  life.  To  fit  the  punish- 
ment to  what  he  deemed  the  crime  was  ever  keen  enjoy- 
ment to  him. 

The  rest  of  the  council  sat  frozen  into  silence  for 
horror  of  it.  Polikof,  meekest  of  men,  but  now  outcast 
of  hope  and  desperate  in  his  extremity,  faced  the  tyrant 
amazingly,  as  outraged  meekness  will  at  times. 

"For  giving  thee  the  truth,  thou  sendest  me  to  death. 


ii2  THE  LONG  ROAD 

Thou  art  a  devil  as  men  say,"  quoth  the  meek  one, 
boldly. 

"Say  they  so?"  stormed  Paschkin.  "I  would  I 
had  their  backs  in  one  beneath  my  lash.  But  I  have 
thine  and  it  shall  pay  for  the  rest." 

And  the  following  day,  Polikof,  with  his  back  in 
ribbons  from  the  knout,  started  for  Baikal  in  a  telega 
heaped  with  straw,  lest  he  should  die  on  the  road, 
which  would  have  left  him  in  much  better  case. 

And  Volnof,  the  trader,  who  was  by  nature  of  a  full 
and  rotund  body,  having  grumbled  outside  that,  if 
the  taxes  went  on  mounting  up  in  this  fashion,  they 
would  all  have  to  live  on  bread  and  water  before  long, 
was  haled  before  the  Governor,  whose  long  ears  had 
caught  the  growl. 

"So  thou  fearest  to  be  brought  to  bread  and  water, 
—  thou  pot-bellied  lump  !"  snarled  Paschkin,  while  the 
wretched  Volnof  quivered  before  him  like  a  stricken 
jelly-bag.  "The  fear  is  often  greater  than  the  fact. 
We  will  relieve  thy  mind.  A  month  of  bread  and 
water  will  bring  thee  to  the  proper  shape  of  a  man,  and 
if  it  fail,  then  thou  shalt  have  two  months !" 

And  he  clapped  the  burly  one  behind  the  bars,  and 
fed  him  naught  but  bread  and  water  till  his  spirit  and 
his  body  were  alike  broken,  and  he  died  six  months 
later. 

By  such  freakish  deviltries,  as  by  a  process  of  detri- 
tion, the  Governor's  council  was  constantly  being  worn 


THE   LONG  ROAD  113 

down.  He  would  have  dispensed  with  it  entirely 
but  for  the  laws  —  such  as  they  were  —  of  the  realm, 
which  called  for  a  council,  and  a  council  he  must  have. 
And  so,  whenever  his  brutalities  had  winnowed  it  too 
fine,  he  looked  about  him  and  pounced  on  this  one 
and  that,  and  conferred  his  undesired  appointments 
from  which  there  was  no  possibility  of  escape. 

Men  dreaded  them  as  they  did  the  plague,  and  re- 
sorted to  all  manner  of  shifts  and  manoeuvres  to  avoid 
them;  but  though  they  might  lie  low  and  escape  for 
the  time,  sooner  or  later  the  wide  net  had  them. 

It  was  not,  perhaps,  heroic,  and  might  indeed  suggest 
a  lack  of  public  spirit.  But  the  men  of  Irkutsk  were 
but  very  ordinary  men,  struggling  hard  to  provide  for 
their  wives  and  families,  of  no  great  knowledge  or 
understanding,  and  desirous  only  of  being  left  alone 
to  live  in  peace  and  quietness.  And  Paschkin  was  all- 
powerful,  fearing  neither  God  nor  man,  and  he  simply 
used  them  as  his  puppets  and  broke  them  at  his  pleasure. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

Ir  Paschkin  ever  thought  of  Stepan  Iline  it  was  only 
as  a  wooden-head  who  lacked  understanding  suffi- 
cient to  take  advantage  of  his  opportunities.  But 
Irkutsk  was  even  then  a  city  of  size,  with  many  thou- 
sands of  inhabitants,  and  it  is  possible  he  had  dropped 
for  the  time  being  out  of  the  busy  Governor's  mind. 
And,  however  the  Irkutsk  men  might  grovel  before 
Paschkin,  they  held  by  one  another,  and  no  man  ever 
gave  another  away. 

Moreover,  Stepan  lived  so  quietly,  and  made  so  little 
mark  outside,  that  he  attracted  no  notice  even  from  the 
police.  And  he,  and  every  other  man  in  Irkutsk, 
lived  in  the  hope  that  Paschkin  might  die  —  naturally 
or  by  violence  mattered  not,  so  long  as  he  died  and 
ceased  to  trouble  them.  They  would  have  rejoiced 
with  him  most  unfeignedly  if  he  had  been  appointed 
to  some  higher  post  —  anything  to  have  been  rid  of 
him,  for  it  seemed  barely  possible  that  the  world  could 
hold  two  Paschkins,  and  any  change  could  not  but  be 
for  the  better. 

But  such  luck  as  Stepan  Iline's  was  too  good  to  last, 
and  the  inevitable  happened.  And  it  came  as  the 

result  of  an  accident. 

114 


THE   LONG   ROAD  115 

Paschkin,  by  dint  of  long  searching,  had  possessed 
himself  of  another  black  horse  to  complete  his  troika, 
and  with  these  three  he  whirled  like  a  hurricane  about 
his  command.  With  their  tails  and  manes  flying,  the 
whites  of  their  eyes  gleaming  viciously,  their  nostrils 
aflame,  the  foam  flecks  dappling  their  black  skins,  and 
their  pace  always  a  wild  gallop;  with  a  wild -haired 
Cossack  in  black  as  driver;  and  the  grim  dark  face 
scowling  out  of  the  tarantas  or  sledge  behind  —  Pasch- 
kin's  excursions  were  things  to  be  avoided  by  old  and 
young.  At  sight  of  him  men  slunk  out  of  sight,  or, 
if  they  were  driving,  drew  well  off  the  road,  and  the 
children  fled  screaming  to  their  mothers. 

One  day,  as  he  drove,  his  shafter  cast  a  shoe.  Pasch- 
kin's  quick  ear  caught  the  clink  of  a  forge  not  far  away. 
He  followed  the  sound  and  came  to  Stepan  Iline's 
door,  and,  before  Stepan  was  aware  of  him,  he  heard  the 
master  rating  one  of  his  men  for  a  piece  of  ill-done  work. 

"Now  see,  Mikhail  Alexandrovitch,  such  work  will 
not  do  here.  We  give  of  our  best,  and  nothing  less  will 
answer.  Thou  art  new  to  our  ways,  but  thou  must 
come  to  them  at  once,  or  out  thou  goest  neck  and  crop. 
And  understand  this  —  I  tell  no  man  twice !  Break 
that  up  and  do  it  again  as  it  should  be  done." 

"A  man  after  my  own  heart,"  said  Paschkin  to 
himself,  and  stepped  into  the  forge. 

At  sight  of  him  Stepan's  face  assumed  its  stolid 
mask.  But  it  was  too  late.  Paschkin  had  heard. 


n6  THE   LONG  ROAD 

"A  shoe  for  the  shafter's  hind  leg,"  he  said.  "And 
do  it  thyself."  And  Stepan  knew  that  his  time  had 
come. 

"And  where  hast  thou  been  hiding  all  this  time, 
Iline?"  asked  Paschkin,  as  he  watched. 

"I  have  been  here  at  my  work,  Excellency,"  and  the 
sparks  flew  broadcast  from  the  shoe  under  his  hammer. 

"Dost  remember  this  fellow?" 

"He  is  one  of  the  pair  from  Selemsinsk." 

"Ay,  an  excellent  bargain.  Almost  worth  coming 
to  Irkutsk  for.  Thy  business  prospers?" 

"  By  hard  work  we  make  both  ends  meet,  Excellency." 

"I  want  some  of  thy  time,  however.  My  council 
needs  fresh  blood  at  times,  and  needs  it  badly  now. 
They  are  pig-heads  all.  I  name  thee  to  it.  Thou 
wilt  come  to-morrow." 

And  when  he  went  into  the  house,  after  work, 
Katia's  clear  vision  plumbed  the  matter  before  ever 
he  opened  his  lips.  She  had  seen  the  hated  team  at 
the  forge,  and  fear  and  Paschkin  went  together. 

"Ah!"  she  cried.  "He  has  got  thee  at  last,"  and 
there  was  foreboding  in  her  voice  and  face. 

"He  has  called  me  to  the  council,"  said  Stepan, 
gloomily,  while  little  Katenka  climbed  on  his  knee  and 
tried  to  coax  the  usual  smiles  with  her  kisses.  "And 
I  had  as  lief  he  had  not.  It  is  not  a  post  for  any 
honest  man." 

"Thou  wilt  be  very  discreet,"  said  Katia,  soothingly, 


THE  LONG  ROAtf  Iiy 

though  her  heart  was  heavy  at  sight  of  his  face  so 
downcasted. 

"Ay,  truly,"  he  said  very  soberly.  "For  thy  sake 
and  the  little  one's  I  will  be  as  quiet  as  a  dog  under  its 
master's  foot.  But  it  is  not  a  part  that  suits  me." 

"Every  night  and  every  morning  I  pray  for  Pasch- 
kin's  death  or  removal,"  cried  Katia,  passionately. 
"And  now  I  will  pray  harder  than  ever.  Thou  wilt 
suffer  his  insolences,  Stepan,  and  bite  thy  tongue, 
but  give  him  no  occasion  against  thee." 

"Truly  will  I.  But  thou  wilt  have  a  tongueless  man 
within  a  week,  I  fear.  'Tis  no  easy  matter  to  sit  still 
and  silent  while  the  Devil  harries  thy  neighbour  to 
death." 

"Thou  wilt  think  ever  of  the  little  one  and  me.  No 
good  can  come  of  opposing  Paschkin.  Perhaps  the 
good  God  will  hear  our  prayers  and  take  him  from 
us." 

"Would  that  he  might!"  said  Stepan,  fervently, 
and  not  a  man  or  a  woman  in  Irkutsk  who  prayed  but 
prayed  the  same  thing. 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

THE  position  of  councillor  under  Paschkin  was,  as 
Stepan  said,  no  easy  one. 

Stiffen  one's  face,  and  bite  one's  tongue,  and  steel 
one's  heart  as  one  might,  it  was  well  nigh  impossible 
to  sit  quiet  and  so  be  made  party  to  doings  which  filled 
one's  soul  with  loathing  and  with  self-contempt.  Yet 
a  word,  —  nay,  even  a  look  at  times,  —  and  the  thunder 
was  loosed  and  the  lightning  flashed,  and  life  —  home, 
wife,  children,  and  all  that  had  made  life  bearable,  — 
all  were  gone  in  a  moment  at  the  word  of  a  man  whose 
word  was  law,  and  who,  to  all  intents  and  purposes, 
acknowledged  no  higher  power  than  himself.  God 
was  in  heaven  and  the  Tzar  was  very  far  away. 

For  men  with  red  blood  in  their  veins,  and  hearts 
above  a  sheep's,  the  position  was  a  painful  and  a  hateful 
one.  Still  more  painful  ones,  however,  were  thrust, 
red  and  raw,  upon  their  notice  from  time  to  time,  and 
Paschkin  met  with  no  more  opposition  than  sufficed 
to  keep  his  mind  pleasantly  occupied  in  devising  pun- 
ishments befitting  these  offences  against  his  preroga- 
tive. 

Even  Ivan  Iline,  who  had  deemed  his  past  sufferings 

sufficient  condonation  for  any  present  pusillanimity, 

118 


THE  LONG  ROAtf  119 

had  not  escaped,  though  his  end  had  not  come  by  any 
active  provocation  of  the  tyrant. 

And  Stepan  was  younger,  and  his  blood  had  not  been 
chilled  for  life  by  the  rigours  of  the  long  road  and  the 
black  injustice  of  his  transplanting.  And  so  Stepan 
—  will  as  he  might,  with  all  that  was  in  him,  and  ever 
present  thought  of  consequences  to  Katia  and  little 
Katenka  —  found  it  almost  beyond  him  at  times  to 
sit  there  acquiescent  while  the  Governor  wrung  the 
withers  of  his  fellows  and  ground  them  small  beneath 
his  heel. 

He  sank  low  in  his  own  estimation,  he  suffered  much, 
he  writhed  at  his  self-imposed  impotence.  But  he 
said  to  himself  that  it  was  for  Katia  and  little  Katenka, 
and  sometimes,  when  he  returned  from  the  council, 
he  would  go  into  the  forge  and  hammer  Paschkin  into 
and  out  of  bars  of  white-hot  metal,  till  the  whole  place 
rang  with  the  sound  of  it,  and  the  fiery  sparks  were  like 
visible  curses. 

Vicariously  Paschkin  suffered  much  punishment 
and  many  deaths  at  many  hands,  but  in  actual  fact  he 
went  his  way  exulting,  and  cared  for  neither  God 
nor  man,  and  'still  less  for  suffering  women  and 
children. 

And  Katia,  the  while,  lived  in  perpetual  dread  of 
some  outbreak  on  Stepan's  part,  or  some  untoward 
and  unprovoked  happening,  which  would  break  their 
lives  and  end  their  happiness  for  ever.  And  she  never 


120  THE   LONG  ROAD 

ceased  to  urge  her  husband  to  prudence  for  their  sakes, 
though  the  degradation  of  it  troubled  her  as  it  did 
him. 

He  would  tell  her,  now  and  again,  of  things  that 
happened  in  the  council,  and  others  she  heard  outside. 
She  knew  quite  enough  of  the  matter  to  make  her  heart 
sore  for  him  who  had  to  bear  the  active  brunt  of  it. 
She  did  her  best,  by  her  quick  sympathy  and  loving 
comradeship,  to  salve  his  wounds  and  make  him  feel 
himself  again,  at  home  at  all  events. 

So,  for  twelve  bitter  months,  Stepan  lay  in  the  mire 
of  his  own  manhood  under  the  heel  of  Paschkin,  and 
then,  in  the  most  natural  way  and  without  any  active 
invitation  on  his  part,  the  storm  loosed  upon  him  and 
swept  him  into  the  outer  darkness. 

Paschkin  was  capricious  as  a  tiger.  If  one  moment, 
replete  with  the  satisfaction  of  one  or  other  of  his 
indulgences,  he  seemed  to  purr  harmlessly,  his  teeth 
hidden  and  his  claws  sheathed,  the  next  he  was  on 
his  feet  scratching  and  biting  at  anything  that  offered, 
and  with  but  one  thought,  —  to  rend  and  tear. 

At  times  the  capricious  twist  in  him  would  invite  — 
and  when  that  failed,  command — discussion  of  his 
projects.  And  at  such  times  his  councillors  sat  warily, 
became  even  more  stupid  and  stolid  than  was  cus- 
tomary with  them,  and  behind  their  masks  tried  hard 
to  see  which  way  the  cat  required  them  to  jump.  If 
they  sat  mum,  he  would  call  upon  them  in  turn  for  an 


THE  LONG  ROAD  121 

opinion,  and  their  opinions  were  as  a  rule  extraordi- 
narily alike  and  all  akin  to  his  own. 

Once  or  twice,  when  so  called  upon,  Stepan's  true 
self  had  peeped  out  in  spite  of  his  self-schooling,  and 
Paschkin  had  apparently  found  his  ideas  worthy  of 
consideration  and  had  taken  no  umbrage. 

Where  all  rigidly  label  themselves  blockheads,  the 
faintest  gleam  of  sense  shines  brightly.  Stepan's 
inadvertent  lapses  caused  the  Governor  to  regard  him 
as  a  man  of  acute  intelligence,  and  so,  possibly,  a 
danger  if  he  should  develop  any  signs  of  self-will.  His 
immunity  from  consequences  caused  his  fellow-coun- 
cillors to  regard  him  somewhat  suspiciously  as  a  favour- 
ite. 

"You  take  risks,  Stepan  Ivanovitch,"  said  old  Sa- 
bine,  father  of  his  friend  Feodor,  one  day. 

"Before  God,  Feodor  Feodorovitch,  I  do  my  best  to 
look  a  fool,  but  when  he  asks  one  must  answer." 

"The  only  safe  answer  is  the  one  he  wants.  It  is 
not  safe  to  tell  him  anything  he  does  not  know.  Polikof 
knew  more  than  Paschkin,  and  he  is  dying  in  a  boat  on 
Baikal." 

"I  will  bite  my  tongue  still  harder,  and  try  my  best 
to  look  still  more  a  fool,"  said  Stepan. 

"It  is  the  safest  way,  when  one  lives  in  the  tiger's 
mouth,"  said  old  Sabine. 


CHAPTER  XXX 

FOR  the  first  time  since  Ivan  Iline's  death  —  since 
Paschkin  hanged  the  leaders  of  the  delayed  convoy  — 
since  Stepan  Iline  gave  the  men  of  Verkinsk  sound 
advice  as  to  their  future  conduct  if  they  valued  their 
skins  —  the  silver  convoy  was  a  week  beyond  its  time, 
and  from  the  very  first  day  Paschkin's  wrath  had  been 
accumulating. 

Each  day  his  wretched  council  had  looked  for  it  to 
boil  over,  and  had  wondered  who  would  be  scorched 
out  of  existence,  and  each  man  had  done  his  best  to 
edge  himself  as  far  away  from  the  wrath  to  come  as 
possible.  If  they  could  all  have  taken  to  their  beds 
with  deadly  sickness,  they  would  have  rejoiced.  But  it 
was  no  good  trying  that. 

The  previous  winter,  Dmitri  Gros,  over  seventy  years 
of  age,  had  fallen  suddenly  sick.  Paschkin  missed  him 
from  the  council  room,  asked  where  he  was,  was  told. 

"Sick!"  he  shouted.  "I  have  given  him  no  per- 
mission to  be  sick,"  as  though  in  this,  as  in  most 
mundane  matters,  the  greater  included  the  less,  and  his 
powers  of  life  and  death  included  the  minor  ones  of 
sickness  and  health. 

Then  he  summoned  his  chief  of  police. 

122 


THE  LONG  ROAD  123 

"  Dmitri  Gros  has  not  come  to  the  council.  Go  and 
fetch  him.  You  understand  !" 

The  chief  of  police  understood,  and  presently  re- 
appeared, two  of  his  men  behind  him  carrying  Dmitri 
Gros  wrapped  up  in  blankets,  his  head  hanging  limply, 
his  face  pinched  and  blue  with  the  cold.  He  was  not 
much  use  at  the  council  that  day,  unless  as  a  warning, 
and  the  next  day  he  died. 

So  even  a  genuine  sick  bed  was  no  refuge  for  reluc- 
tant councillors,  and  the  dangers  of  those  days  of  wrath 
had  to  be  faced. 

On  the  day  upon  which  the  storm  broke,  Paschkin 
came  to  the  council  in  one  of  his  blackest  moods.  He 
had  drunk  overmuch  the  previous  night,  and  his  cook 
had  taken  advantage  of  the  opportunity  to  do  likewise. 
Breakfast,  in  consequence,  had  been  a  failure  on  both 
sides,  and  Paschkin's  wrath  —  which  dared  not  vent 
itself  on  the  cook,  who  was  utterly  irreplaceable  and  a 
jewel  of  a  man,  except  when  he  was  drunk — ravened 
within  him.  On  such  small  hinges  —  a  dish  over  or 
under  cooked,  a  flavour  not  quite  to  the  taste  —  do 
men's  lives  and  fortunes  turn  when  absolute  power  is 
in  the  hands  of  one  man. 

If  Paschkin  had  been  in  no  blacker  humour  than 
usual  that  day,  Stepan  Iline's  life  might  have  run  on 
less  monstrous  lines. 

"The  convoy  —  has  it  come?"  growled  Paschkin. 

There  was  no  news  of  the  convoy. 


124  THE   LONG  ROAD 

His  eye  roved  balefully  over  his  submissive  flock, 
and  every  member  of  it  broke  into  a  cold  sweat  of  terror 
as  it  rested  on  him,  and  each  man's  breathing  stopped 
till  the  black  glance  had  passed,  and  then  he  let  out 
his  breath  very  gently  lest  the  sound  of  it  should  pro- 
voke the  danger  back. 

Stepan's  heart  jerked  furiously  as  Paschkin's  eye 
came  along  towards  him,  stopped  as  it  rested  on  him, 
jerked  again  for  a  second  as  it  passed  on,  and  swept 
rapidly  over  the  rest. 

From  the  first  moment  he  knew  it  would  settle  finally 
on  him.  It  was  inevitable.  It  was  fate,  and  there  was 
no  escape.  The  connection  between  himself  and  Ver- 
kinsk  could  not  but  recur  to  Paschkin's  mind. 

He  had  been  there  already.  He  was  acquainted 
with  the  road  and  with  the  men  of  Verkinsk.  His 
father,  also,  had  been  sent  on  this  very  same  errand. 
His  father,  indeed,  had  never  returned  —  as  he  might 
never  return.  But  Paschkin  would  send  him  all  the 
same.  He  knew  it  in  his  bones,  and  Paschkin  .might 
just  as  well  have  saved  himself  the  trouble  of  curdling 
the  blood  of  the  others.  But  then  he  liked  to  see  them 
squirm. 

"You,  Iline!"  —  the  black  eyes,  smouldering  with 
wrath  and  the  effect  of  the  previous  night's  entertain- 
ment, had  shot  back  at  him  —  "you  know  the  way. 
You  will  start  at  once  for  Verkinsk,  find  out  why  the 
convoy  is  not  here,  and  punish  those  who  are  to  blame. 


THE  LONG  ROABT  I2S 

If  the  delay  has  been  there,  you  will  bring  me  their 
heads.  If  you  meet  the  convoy,  you  will  go  on  all 
the  same.  I  will  hold  the  leaders  till  you  return." 

Stepan  had  risen  to  meet  his  fate.  There  was  no 
escape.  His  face  was  set  rigidly  to  go  through  with  it, 
hideous  errand  though  it  was. 

He  had  done  the  journey  once.  He  might  do  it 
again  and  come  back  alive,  though  his  father  had  not 
had  that  good  fortune.  But  Paschkin  had  not 
done. 

"You  will  start  at  once.  Ten  days  to  go.  Ten 
days  to  return.  Five  days  there.  You  will  be  back 
here  in  five-and-twenty  days,  or — "  and  the  bull  head 
nodded  pregnantly. 

The  business  was  bad  enough,  but  this  fixing  of 
impossible  limits  was  too  much.  He  must  have  a  fair 
chance.  Paschkin  did  not  understand  what  he  was 
asking.  It  was  as  much  as  a  man's  life  was  worth  to 
oppose  him,  but  it  was  an  even  question  which  was 
worse,  —  to  go  with  a  rope  round  one's  neck,  or  to 
speak  out,  —  and  there  was  but  a  moment  to  decide. 

"With  respect,  Excellency,"  said  Stepan,  and  noth- 
ing could  have  been  more  respectful  than  his  tone  and 
his  bent  head,  but  the  others  all  held  their  breath  and 
awaited  the  explosion,  "ten  days  is  not  enough  for 
the  journey  at  this  season.  The  waters  will  be  out  and 
the  snow  is  not  now  deep  enough  for  runners." 

"You  will  take  two  Cossacks,  and  you  will  be  back 


126  THE   LONG  ROAD 

here  in  twenty-five  days  or  your  skin  will  pay  for  it," 
thundered  Paschkin,  with  his  devil  in  his  eyes. 

"I  will  do  my  utmost,  Excellency.  No  man  can  do 
more.  But  ten  days — " 

"At  once  !  I  will  send  your  papers  within  the  hour," 
bellowed  Paschkin,  and  Stepan  went. 

And  the  council  had  a  rough  day  of  it,  and  each 
man,  when  he  reached  home,  thanked  the  saints  that 
he  was  not  Stepan  Iline,  and  that  his  own  head  was  still 
safe  on  his  shoulders,  even  if  he  did  feel  morally  bruised 
and  broken. 

Stepan  went  away  home  grinding  his  teeth  to  get  his 
face  straight  before  he  met  Katia. 

In  the  space  of  five  minutes  his  outlook  on  life  had 
changed  from  gray  —  like  this  wintry  sky,  but  shot 
with  rosy  gleams  which  were  Katia,  and  little  Ka- 
tenka,  and  home  —  to  densest  black,  through  which  he 
could  not  see  his  way. 

For  a  moment  he  was  stunned  and  his  faculties 
numbed.  He  had  committed  the  unpardonable  sin. 
He  had  countered  Paschkin,  he  —  after  all  his  well- 
considered  resolves  and  Katia's  prayers! 

He  could  not  see  the  end  of  it,  but  neither  could  he 
see  what  else  he  could  have  done.  The  journey  could 
not  be  done  in  ten  days,  nor  the  business  in  five-and- 
twenty.  It  was  humanly  impossible,  but  then  Paschkin 
was  the  Devil  and  humanity  did  not  enter  into  his 
composition  or  consideration. 


i 

THE  LONG  ROAD  127 

Before  he  reached  home,  however,  his  brain  was  ac- 
tively at  work  again,  and  his  face  was  straight  enough. 
Too  straight,  —  set  like  a  rock,  —  and  Katia  perceived 
it  instantly. 

"  Oh,  Stepan !  What  is  it  ?"  she  cried,  with  the  fear 
in  her  eyes  that  was  common  to  the  women  of  Irkutsk 
in  those  days,  and  commonest  of  all  to  those  whose 
husbands  had  the  misfortune  to  sit  in  the  council. 

"The  convoy  is  behind  again,  as  I  told  you,  dushenka, 
and  Paschkin  wants  me  to  go  and  seek  it." 

He  wished  to  break  the  full  of  the  ill  news  to  her  as 
gently  as  might  be,  but  Katia's  active  mind  and  natural 
forebodings  covered  all  the  ground  between  and  leaped 
at  once  to  the  end. 

"Dear  God!"  she  wailed.  "And  you  will  go  like 
your  father  and  never  return.  It  is  the  end." 

So  he  dropped  all  attempt  at  disguise,  and  told  her 
plainly  and  quickly  the  thoughts  that  had  strained 
through  the  turmoil  of  his  heart  and  brain  as  he  came 
home. 

"It  may  be  the  end  unless  we  look  to  ourselves, 
Katia,  and  that  we  will  do.  I  start  within  the  hour 
on  this  madness  and  it  may  be  I  shall  never  return. 
It  is  bitterness  to  give  it  all  up,  but  as  well  cut  my 
throat  at  once  and  spare  his  Excellency  the  trouble. 
And  we  will  manage  better  than  that.  Here  is  what 
you  will  do,  dear  one.  You  will  collect  all  the  money 
it  is  possible  to  get  in.  Some  we  shall  never  get,  and 


128  THE  LONG  ROAD 

you  must  go  about  it  very  quietly.  Say  to  each  that 
I  had  to  start  for  Paschkin  at  a  moment's  notice  and 
you  need  the  money.  If  I  do  not  get  back  on  the 
twenty-fifth  day,  then  you  will  dispose  of  everything 
we  have  here  at  the  best  price  you  can  get.  Simon 
Rapin,  the  Jew,  will  buy  —  at  a  price.  He  will  beat 
you  down,  but  he  is  an  honest  man  and  his  money  is 
good.  Then  you  will  send  all  the  money,  except  what 
you  will  need  for  yourself  and  our  little  Katenka,  to 
your  father  at  Selemsinsk.  Simon  will  do  that  for  us. 
Then  if  I  do  not  come  back,  and  I  have  no  hope  of 
that,  you  will  go  to  your  father  also.  You  under- 
stand? Better  perhaps  that  you  should  know  nothing 
of  my  plans.  I  will  send  you  word,  and  you  will  join 
me  where  I  am,  out  of  reach  of  Paschkin." 

Katia  had  followed  every  word  with  wide,  under- 
standing eyes.  It  was  a  crisis  in  their  life,  perhaps  the 
breaking  of  it.  Every  nerve  and  every  sense  within  her 
was  on  the  strain.  She  would  have  liked  to  lie  down 
on  the  ground  and  weep.  But  this  was  no  time  for 
weeping.  Time  enough  for  that  later  on.  Now  she 
must  act.  She  must  play  the  man  though  her  woman's 
heart  was  breaking. 

Within  somewhat  narrow  bounds,  and  subject  always 
to  such  sudden  disaster  as  threatens  those  who  live  on 
a  volcano,  they  had  been  happy.  And  now  the  earth 
was  rocking  under  their  feet  and  their  happiness  was 
in  peril. 


THE  LONG  ROAJ)  129 

"I  understand,"  she  said  quietly.  "I  will  do  all 
just  as  you  say,  Stepan,"  and  she  set  to  work  to  make 
provision  for  his  journey,  —  food,  clothing  packed  in 
woollen  bags  which  he  could  sit  on  in  the  tarantas, 
things  he  would  never  have  thought  of  himself,  but 
which  would  recall  her  to  his  grateful  mind  a  thou- 
sand times  before  he  reached  his  journey's  end. 

He  drew  from  its  hiding-place  his  small  store  of 
money  and  divided  it  with  her.  It  was  not  much,  for 
money  grows  outside  the  stocking,  not  inside  it,  and 
he  was  a  business  man. 

They  went  together  into  the  next  room,  and  he  kissed 
the  fair-haired  little  Katenka,  fast  asleep  in  her  bed, 
for  she  was  only  three  years  old  and  still  retained  the 
faculty  of  waking  when  others  were  very  sound  asleep, 
and  of  sleeping  when  others  were  very  wide  awake. 

Then  they  closed  all  the  doors  and  sat  in  silence, 
seeking  a  blessing  on  this  woful  journey. 

And  then  a  rude  knocking  on  the  outer  door  told 
them  that  the  time  was  come. 

One  final  embrace,  long  and  close,  and  they  parted. 


CHAPTER   XXXI 

THE  old  Adam  in  a  man  hates  with  a  very  vehement 
and  natural  hatred  the  man  that  wrongs  him.  It  is 
curious  that  he  hates  equally,  if  not  even  more  bitterly, 
the  man  he  wrongs.  For  the  wronged  one  is  a  perpetual 
accusation,  an  incarnate  conscience,  to  be  thrust  out, 
stifled,  done  away  with,  by  any  means  that  offer. 

Stepan  Iline  hated  Paschkin  for  the  brutal  caprice 
which  made,  almost  inevitably,  for  the  breaking  of  his 
life.  Paschkin  conceived  an  equal  detestation  of  his 
victim.  The  thought  of  him  twisted  in  his  brain  like 
an  evil  maggot  and  gave  him  no  peace. 

He  recalled  now  innumerable  minute  evidences  of 
revolt  on  Iline's  part,  —  veiled  looks  which  no  stolid 
mask  had  been  able  wholly  to  hide;  glances  of  dis- 
gust which  escaped  him  unawares ;  a  restlessness  under 
others'  harryings  which  no  self-steeling  to  endurance 
had  been  able  absolutely  to  control. 

Without  a  doubt  the  fellow  was  contumacious  and 
needed  a  lesson.  The  others  also.  For  one  such  in 
the  council  was  bound  to  infect  the  rest.  And  he 
always  found  that  after  the  chastisement  of  one  of  their 
number  the  others  were  more  amenable  than  ever. 

There  had  always  been  something  stiff-necked  and 
130 


THE  LONG  ROAft  131 

strait-laced  about  this  young  Iline,  he  remembered 
now — a  kind  of  aloofness,  an  arrogant  bending  under 
compulsion  which  undoubtedly  testified  to  an  inde- 
pendence of  spirit  which  only  needed  opportunity  to 
develop  into  a  danger. 

When  a  maggot  such  as  that  gets  into  the  hotbed  of 
an  evil  brain,  inflamed  with  wine  and  all  indulgence, 
it  grows  and  breeds  in  most  amazing  fashion. 

Before  Stepan  had  started  on  his  journey,  Paschkin 
had  succeeded  in  convincing  himself  beyond  all  doubt 
that  he  was  a  danger  to  himself,  a  menace  to  the  State, 
an  artful  and  insidious  plotter.  A  fellow  evidently 
to  be  got  rid  of  without  delay  on  account  of  the  clever- 
ness which  had  enabled  him  to  impress  himself  upon 
them  all  as  nothing  more  than  an  upright,  simple,  hard- 
working man. 

But  he,  Paschkin,  had  had  experience  of  that  kind 
of  man.  Ample !  He  knew  just  how  to  treat  him, 
and  that  was  to  put  down  his  foot  and  squash  him  so 
that  he  could  make  no  more  trouble. 

But  there  are  more  ways  than  one  of  putting  one's 
foot  on  a  man  and  squashing  him.  And  here  was  where 
Paschkin's  special  faculty  came  into  play.  Punish- 
ment to  be  effective,  and  to  fulfil  its  ultimate  object, 
should  be  in  such  form  as  to  act  as  a  deterrent  to  other 
evil  doers,  and  Paschkin  was  notorious  for  his  punitive 
freaks. 

After  the  council  that  day,  the  taste  of  Stepan  Iline 


i3  2  THE   LONG  ROAD 

had  grown  so  nauseous  in  the  Governor's  mouth  that 
he  could  not  get  rid  of  it  even  with  much  wine. 

Just  as  night  fell  the  belated  convoy  from  Verkinsk 
trooped  in,  wayworn  and  apprehensive.  It  had  started 
late,  they  asserted,  and  they  had  had  to  take  long  de- 
tours among  the  hills  to  avoid  the  floods  below.  They 
had  seen  nothing  of  Iline.  He  must  have  passed  them 
as  they  circled  among  the  hills.  Paschkin  flung  the 
leaders  into  one  of  his  black  holes  to  await  his  pleasure, 
and  thought  pleasantly  of  Iline  ploughing  over  the  flooded 
roads  toward  Verkinsk.  He  had  evidently  risked  the 
lower  route  in  hopes  of  saving  time. 

From  the  accounts  of  the  convoy  he  would  never  be 
nble  to  accomplish  the  journey  in  ten  days,  and  —  unless 
they  were  lying,  which  they  probably  were,  in  hopes  of 
saving  their  skins  —  he  would  find  his  work  cut  out 
for  him  at  Verkinsk.  He  would  exceed  his  time,  and 
must  suffer  punishment.  What  form  that  punishment 
should  take  would  be  subject  for  pleasant  consideration. 
Meanwhile,  the  devil  in  Paschkin  chuckled  grimly 
at  the  humour  of  the  situation,  —  the  convoy  safely 
arrived;  Iline  breaking  his  heart  in  his  haste  to  fetch 
it,  and  arriving  home,  after  all  his  labours,  only  to  serve 
as  an  example  to  such  as  might  at  any  future  time  be 
inclined  to  question  the  Governor's  orders  and  fail 
in  carrying  them  out.  Without  doubt  it  was  a  droll 
position,  and  Paschkin's  devil  was  mightily  tickled 
by  it. 


THE  LONG  ROAD  133 

So  to  more  wine  and  such  warped  musing  as  wine 
may  generate  on  the  subject  of  Stepan  Iline  as  an 
example  to  the  rest. 

It  came  to  him  in  the  middle  of  the  night,  when  he 
awoke  with  a  throat  like  a  lime-kiln,  and  a  head  that 
ached  savagely  with  hard  thinking,  and  other  things. 

"Ten  days  to  go  !  Ten  days  to  return  !  Ten  days  ! 
Ten  days!"  —  and  the  idea  which  his  muddled  brain 
had  been  rooting  after  while  he  slept,  dawned  upon 
him,  and  he  laughed  hoarsely  into  the  darkness,  —  that 
grim  laugh  that  set  men's  flesh  creeping  with  thoughts 
of  briny  knouts  and  grisly  deaths. 

"  That's  it !  That's  it !  —  Ten  days  !  Ten  days !" 
and  he  was  so  pleased  with  himself  that  he  rolled  over 
and  went  to  sleep  and,  having  shed  his  burden,  slept 
quite  soundly. 

When  the  convoy  arrived,  the  previous  day,  the  others 
had  asked,  "Shall  we  send  after  Stepan  Iline,  Excel- 
lency?" 

And  he  had  growled:  "I  will  see  to  Iline.  The  jour- 
ney will  cool  his  blood." 

When  he  got  up  in  the  morning,  he  busied  himself 
with  the  preparation  of  certain  documents  which  af- 
forded him  such  enjoyment  that  he  came  to  his  break- 
fast still  chuckling,  and  even  overlooked  several  trifling 
delinquencies  on  the  part  of  the  cook,  who  carried  his 
liquor  less  manfully  than  his  master. 

And  after  breakfast  he  sent  for  the  hardest  rider 


i34  THE   LONG   ROAD 

among  his  Cossacks,  and  said  to  him,  "You  will  take 
these  papers  to  Verkinsk  and  deliver  them  to  the  chief 
of  police  there.  Iline  has  taken  the  lower  road.  You 
will  take  the  higher.  It  is  longer,  but  you  travel  alone, 
and  he  carries  three.  You  should  get  there  before  him. 
If  you  should  come  across  him,  you  will  say  nothing 
of  the  arrival  of  the  convoy.  You  understand?" 

"I  understand,  Excellency." 

"Make  no  mistake,  or  your  hide  will  pay  for  it. 
Now  go,  and  travel  quickly!" 

And  Taras,  the  Cossack,  with  his  hide  in  pawn, 
travelled  so  quickly  that  he  reached  Verkinsk  on  the 
eleventh  day,  half  a  day  ahead  of  Stepan  Iline. 


CHAPTER   XXXII 

THE  thoughts  that  surged  in  Stepan  Iline's  brain 
throughout  that  grim  journey  to  Verkinsk  were  hard 
and  bitter  ones. 

At  first  his  heart  was  so  bruised  and  torn  with  this 
sudden  break  in  his  life,  and  the  parting  from  Katia 
and  little  Katenka,  that  he  could  think  of  nothing  else. 
For  he  did  not  attempt  to  deceive  himself.  He  had, 
without  any  intention  that  way,  fallen  foul  of  Paschkin, 
and  he  knew  too  well  the  fate  that  awaited  the  man 
who  did  that. 

Then  bitter  hatred  of  Paschkin  got  the  better  even 
of  his  soreness,  and  ran  riot  in  him  for  a  time.  The 
fire  of  it  held  within  it  something  of  healing  for  his 
wounds,  or  at  all  events  of  numbing  and  deadening. 
Before  the  fire  burnt  he  had  felt  bruised  and  broken. 
While  it  burnt  he  felt  himself  a  man  again.  He  knew 
that  this  new  man  was  kin  to  the  Devil  and  Pasch- 
kin, and  yet,  for  the  time,  he  let  it  burn. 

Dimly,  through  the  smoke  of  his  wrath,  he  perceived 
the  cause  of  the  wrongs  under  which  he  and  his  kind 
suffered.  Why  should  any  one  man  have  powers  so 
great  that  he  could  break  his  fellows  with  a  word? 
It  always  had  been  so.  He  supposed  it  always  would 


136  THE  LONG  ROAD 

be  so.  But  it  was  not  right,  and  he  knew  too  little  of 
happier  lands  to  know  that  this  wrong  too,  like  all  other 
wrongs  under  which  men  suffer,  was  capable  of  righting, 
if  only  men  knew  how  and  were  ready  to  suffer  deaths 
for  their  convictions. 

It  might  be  possible  to  kill  Paschkin,  for,  after  all, 
he  was  only  a  man  like  other  men,  and  all  men  die, 
though  so  far  he  had  escaped.  But  his  understanding 
was  not  so  undeveloped  as  not  to  perceive  that  Pasch- 
kin was  only  a  part  of  an  evil  system.  If  Paschkin 
was  killed,  another  would  come  in  his  place.  And  the 
next  corner  might  be  as  bad,  though  he  could  hardly 
be  worse. 

If  he  got  the  chance,  he  would  certainly  like  to  kill 
Paschkin.  Not  that  it  would  do  any  good,  but  there 
would  be  a  mighty  satisfaction  in  it.  He  would  like 
to  kill  him  slowly,  bit  by  bit,  making  him  suffer  as  he 
had  made  others  suffer. 

But  in  time  the  fire  burnt  down,  and  all  his  mind 
was  bent  on  his  own  concerns,  —  how  to  escape  from 
the  hand  of  Paschkin,  how  to  get  Katia  and  little 
Katenka  to  him  again,  where  to  go,  and  how  best  to 
get  there. 

He  must  go  first  to  Verkinsk,  for  he  could  not  be  rid 
of  his  two  Cossacks  till  he  got  there.  Besides,  Verkinsk 
lay  toward  the  border  beyond  which  he  hoped  Pasch- 
kin's  power  would  not  extend. 

From  Verkinsk  he  would  manage  to  steal  away  some- 


THE  LONG  ROAQ  137 

how.  Then  he  would  work  round  toward  Selemsinsk, 
where  Katia  and  little  Katenka  would  be  waiting  for 
him.  And  with  the  money  saved  from  the  wreckage 
in  Irkutsk  he  would  start  life  again,  no  matter  on 
how  small  a  scale,  so  long  as  it  was  not  shadowed  by 
Paschkin. 

There  would  be  difficulties,  of  course.  One  needed 
papers  to  travel  with,  even  in  Siberia.  But  he  would 
avoid  towns  and  the  police  until  he  got  far  beyond  the 
limits  of  Paschkin,  and  then  he  would  assume  some 
other  name  and  concoct  some  story  which  would  have 
to  carry  him  through. 

It  was  a  hazard,  for  paperless  men  were  outcast. 
But  it  was  the  only  course  open  to  him.  And  there 
must  be  many  places  where  a  skilled  workman  would 
be  welcome  and  perhaps  not  too  many  questions  asked, 
and  he  would  find  one  of  them. 

He  would  work  the  flesh  off  his  hands,  if  need  be, 
to  make  a  living  for  Katia  and  the  little  one.  Black 
bread  without  the  fear  of  Paschkin  would  be  sweeter 
far  than  the  amplest  faring  Irkutsk  could  afford. 

There  was  very  little  speech  among  them.  The 
roads,  such  as  they  were,  were  in  terrible  condition,  — 
sinks  of  mud  with  huge  boulders  at  the  bottom.  The 
only  safety  for  teeth  and  tongue  was  to  keep  them  locked 
in  silence. 

And  at  night,  when  they  found  lodging  in  any  hut 
or  farmhouse  they  came  across,  they  were  too  weary 


138  THE  LONG  ROAD 

and  battered  with  the  day's  toil  to  care  for  aught  but 
food  and  sleep. 

They  had,  moreover,  very  little  in  common,  save  the 
equal  capacity  for  bruises,  weariness,  and  disgust.  If 
Stepan's  ideas  on  misgovernment  were  embryonic,  his 
companions'  had  not  even  begun  to  sprout.  They 
were  simply  Cossacks,  and  did  what  they  were  told, 
without  wasting  any  of  their  animal  strength  on 
thinking. 

With  the  one  idea  of  getting  to  the  end  as  soon  as 
possible,  and  therefore  to  the  new  beginning  and  Katia 
and  little  Katenka,  Stepan  pressed  his  horses  to  the 
utmost,  and  for  the  same  reason  chose  the  lower  and 
shorter  road  in  hopes  that  the  waters  would,  by  this 
time,  have  got  back  into  their  proper  channels. 

In  places  they  had,  but  even  there  the  roads  they  had 
left  were  frightful,  and  where  they  had  not  they  had  to 
make  long  detours.  And  so  the  travellers  proved  once 
more  the  truth  of  the  saying,  that  short  cuts  make  long 
roads. 

It  was  a  nightmare  of  a  journey.  For  eleven  nights 
they  never  took  off  more  than  their  big  boots.  For  it 
was  always  late  when  they  arrived,  and  all  they  wanted 
then  was  to  eat  and  fall  asleep,  and  they  were  off  again 
at  daybreak. 

On  the  evening  of  the  twelfth  day  they  stumbled  into 
Verkinsk  more  dead  than  alive,  more  mud  than  men 
to  look  at.  And  there,  having  left  their  papers  with 


THE  LONG  ROAD  139 

the  police,  according  to  rule,  they  kicked  off  clothes 
and  boots,  and  fell  on  the  first  beds  that  offered,  careless 
of  governors,  or  convoys,  or  documents,  or  any  mortal 
thing  save  that  rest  or  death  must  be  theirs,  and  they 
did  not  much  care  which. 


CHAPTER   XXXIII 

WHEN  he  had  slept  off  the  worst  effects  of  his  journey, 
Stepan  went  to  the  Governor  to  inquire  about  the  silver 
convoy. 

"It  reached  Irkutsk  the  day  you  started,"  said  the 
Governor. 

"It  had  not  arrived  when  we  left." 

"Paschkin  has  sent  a  messenger  who  got  here  yes- 
terday. He  took  the  higher  road,  as  the  convoy  did. 
You  made  a  mistake  in  taking  the  lower." 

"  I  knew  the  lower  was  shorter  and  I  hoped  the  waters 
would  be  in  again.  I  was  to  inquire  into  the  delay, 
and  Paschkin  gave  me  orders  as  to  punishment." 

"  There  was  no  delay  here.  The  convoy  started  two 
days  before  its  usual  time.  But  it  tried  the  lower  road 
and  had  to  come  back." 

"Then  there  is  no  one  to  be  punished,  and  I  have  no 
heads  to  take  back  to  Paschkin,  for  which  I  am  glad. 
I  will  rest  here  two  days.  The  travelling  was  very 
rough.  Every  bone  in  my  body  is  sore." 

"  You  had  better  see  the  chief  of  police.  He  has  some 
papers  for  you,"  said  the  Governor,  tersely. 

"For  me?     From  Irkutsk?" 

"From  Irkutsk !"  and  Stepan  went  off  to  the  police 

office. 

140 


THE  LONG  ROAD  141 

"You  have  papers  for  me?"  he  said  to  the  chief, 
a  stout,  red-bearded  man,  smoking  a  large  pipe. 

"Yes,"  and  he  handed  to  Iline  a  bundle  of  official 
documents,  and  gazed  stolidly  at  him  while  he  read 
them. 

After  his  first  quick  glance  to  gather  an  idea  of  the 
meaning  of  the  papers,  Stepan  straightened  up  suddenly 
and  looked  dazedly  at  the  chief,  but  saw  only  a  dense 
cloud  of  smoke  and  a  grim  official  face,  and  a  pair  of 
heavy  eyes  looking  dimly  out  at  him  through  it. 

He  bent  to  the  papers  again,  but  the  letters  danced 
before  his  eyes.  It  took  two  slow  perusals  to  assure 
him  he  had  read  aright. 

The  first  document  stated  with  brutal  curtness  that 
Stepan  Ivanovitch  Iline,  being  guilty  of  contumacy, 
and  having  shown  evidence  of  a  desire  to  resist  the  lawful 
commands  of  the  Governor,  was  condemned  to  perpetual 
exile  from  the  province  of  Irkutsk.  Blow  below  the 
belt  No.  i ! 

The  other  documents  were  his  papers,  without  which 
circulation  anywhere  within  the  empire  was  next  to 
impossible,  —  a  new  set  of  papers,  in  place  of  those  he 
had  left  there  the  previous  night,  and  the  indorsement 
on  them  was  that  high  stroke  of  genius  which  had  pro- 
voked the  Governor's  own  hoarse  eulogistic  laughter 
in  the  dark. 

"It  is  decreed  that  the  within-named,  Stepan  Ivano- 
vitch Iline,  may  travel  where  he  will  within  the  bounds 


i42  THE   LONG  ROAD 

of  Siberia,  save  within  the  province  of  Irkutsk,  but  that 
he  shall  not  be  allowed  to  remain  or  reside  in  any  one 
place  for  a  longer  period  than  ten  days  upon  any  con- 
dition whatsoever.  It  is  enjoined  upon  the  police  to 
execute  this  decree  with  the  utmost  stringency." 

He  read  it  again,  slowly  and  carefully.  His  thoughts 
grew  heavy  and  confused  as  the  full  meaning  of  it  beat 
slowly  in  upon  his  dulled  brain. 

It  was  not  the  flagrant  injustice  of  it  that  hit  him 
hardest.  Life  under  the  rod  inures  one  to  injustice. 
It  was  not  the  decree  of  exile,  the  breaking  up  of  his 
home,  the  ruin  of  his  prospects.  These  things  were 
too  common  to  excite  surprise.  Siberia  was  wide. 
Paschkin  ruled  only  in  Irkutsk.  All  governors  were 
surely  not  Paschkins.  And  it  had  already  been  in  his 
mind  to  get  as  far  away  from  him  as  possible. 

But  this  bedevilment  of  his  papers !  What  did  it 
mean?  How  was  any  man  to  live  under  such  cir- 
cumstances ? 

Very  slowly  a  dull  comprehension  of  it  all  oozed 
through  the  tangle  of  his  thoughts. 

Homeless  henceforth  until  he  died!  A  perpetual 
wanderer !  Summer  and  winter,  well  or  ill,  living  or 
dying,  he  must  be  always  on  the  road. 

Friendless,  too  !  For  how  could  any  man,  so  -driven, 
make  friends? 

And  what  of  Katia  and  the  little  Katenka?  His 
heart  died  within  him  at  thought  of  them. 


THE  LONG  ROAD  143 

Before  God,  it  was  too  much  that  any  man  should 
live  to  break  his  fellows  like  this ! 

He  looked  up  at  the  chief  of  police,  and  his  eyes  were 
strained  and  dim  and  confused,  and  full  of  impotent 
fury,  like  those  of  a  newly-trapped  beast. 

The  chief  of  police  looked  back  at  him  and  smoked 
stolidly.  He  had  seen  worse  things  than  this,  worse  to 
look  at  anyway,  and  he  concerned  himself  only  with 
the  outsides  of  things. 

As  chief  of  police  he  could  neither  affect  nor  afford 
any  shreds  of  emotion  or  the  finer  feelings.  But  the 
smoke-cloud  in  which  he  sat,  and  which  lips  and  pipe 
added  to  at  automatic  intervals,  redeemed  the  stern 
official  front  somewhat.  He  looked  at  Iline  in  a  two- 
fold capacity. 

"It  is  too  much.  It  is  infamous,"  groaned  Stepan, 
through  his  teeth. 

"Might  be  worse,"  growled  the  smoker. 

"Worse ?    There  is  no  worse.     May  God's  curse  — " 

"Better  only  think  it,"  suggested  the  official.  "His 
Excellency's  ears  are  long  and  plentiful.  And  it  cer- 
tainly might  be  worse,"  added  the  smoker.  "He 
might  have  ordered  you  the  knout  every  tenth  day  as 
he  did  the  wretched  Voronin.  It  did  not  take  many 
ten  days,  I  assure  you,  in  his  case.  I  think  it  was  only 
the  third  —  no,  the  fourth,  no,  it  was  the  third  —  on 
which  he  died.  Oh,  yes,  decidedly  it  might  be  worse. 
All  you've  got  to  do  is  just  to  keep  jogging  along." 


144  THE   LONG  ROAD 

That  was  all.  Just  to  keep  jogging  along  —  summer 
and  winter,  well  or  ill,  living  or  dying  —  till  he  could 
jog  along  no  longer. 

"I  must  go  home  —  and  think,"  said  Iline,  looking 
vaguely  at  him. 

" That's  right!  Go  home  and  think,  Stepan  Ivano- 
vitch,  but  don't  think  too  much  and  do  not  think  out 
loud.  Remember  his  Excellency's  ears.  And  when 
will  you  go  into  Yeniseisk?" 

" Yeniseisk?"  said  Iline,  vaguely. 

"Well,  you  don't  want  to  go  to  Yakutsk,  I  suppose, 
and  Irkutsk  is  shut  against  you.  How  soon  will  you 
go?" 

Iline  looked  at  him  numbly  but  said  nothing. 

"Well,  we'll  say  to-morrow.  Now,  you'd  better  go 
home  and  think.  And  don't  think  out  loud !" 

And  Iline  went  back  to  the  house  where  he  was 
staying,  and  lay  down  on  his  bed  like  a  wounded 
animal. 

He  felt  suddenly  old  and  worn  and  stupid.  He 
could  not  think  connectedly  or  to  any  purpose.  The 
one  great  black  fact  blocked  the  way  of  his  thoughts, 
as  a  sudden  blow  stops  the  current  of  a  man's  life. 

It  held  him  like  a  monstrous  cold  hand  all  through 
the  night  as  he  lay  there,  neither  sleeping  nor  waking, 
and  growing  wearier  every  hour.  When  he  got  up  in 
the  morning  he  felt  twenty  years  older,  for  hope  is  life, 
and  he  had  nothing  left  in  life  to  hope  for. 


THE  LONG  ROAD  145 

"You  are  going.  That  is  right!"  said  the  chief  of 
police,  cheerfully,  when  he  went  for  his  papers.  "It 
might  have  been  worse,  oh,  yes,  I  assure  you  it  might 
have  been  very  much  worse.  Which  way  do  you  go?" 

"To  Yeniseisk,"  said  Iline,  sombrely. 

"That  is  right.     It  is  better  than  Yakutsk." 

"It  is  all  the  same." 

"Nay,  it  is  better  than  Yakutsk.  Yakutsk  is  hell. 
Well,  —  God  with  you !  They  will  be  expecting  you 
over  there,  you  know." 

"Who?"  said  Iline,  drearily. 

"The  police.     Paschkin  will  have  sent  them  word." 

And  at  that,  the  dim  idea  Stepan  had  been  nursing 
—  of  changing  his  name  and  beginning  life  again  — 
died.  Without  doubt  Paschkin  was  the  Devil. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV 

HE  bought  food  for  several  days,  and  a  stout  staff, 
and  set  off  on  foot  on  the  journey  that  was  to  have  no 
end.  Later  on,  he  said  to  himself  in  a  dull,  hopeless 
way,  if  it  was  worth  while,  and  if  it  was  possible,  he 
might  buy  himself  a  telega  and  a  horse,  if  he  could  get 
them  cheap. 

He  had  not  much  money,  and  he  must  husband  it 
with  care  until  —  until  — •  he  hardly  knew  what.  Per- 
haps he  could  get  some  more  from  Katia  at  Selemsinsk. 
Perhaps  he  could  earn  some  on  the  road,  though  that 
was  not  very  likely.  How  could  a  man  earn  anything 
when  he  might  not  stop  longer  than  ten  days  in  any 
one  place  ?  He  ground  his  teeth  again  at  the  malignant 
prescience  of  Devil  Paschkin. 

For  the  present  he  would  walk.  Weariness  of  body 
might  lighten  heaviness  of  soul.  To  sit  in  a  wagon 
and  think  would  drive  him  crazy.  Besides,  Verkinsk 
was  in  any  case  no  place  to  buy  either  horse  or  wagon, 
which  reflection  showed  that  his  brain  was  still  not 
entirely  incapable  of  work. 

He  struck  due  west  across  the  hills  and  found  the  ad- 
vantage of  being  tied  to  no  road.  He  plodded  steadily 

on  all  that  day,  eating  when  he  was  hungry,  drinking 

146 


THE   LONG  ROAD  147 

from  the  mountain  streams.  No  rough  hillside  was 
too  rough  or  too  steep  for  him.  The  grinding  of  his 
feet  on  rock  and  shingle  gave  him  relief.  It  was  some- 
thing trampled  on  and  overcome.  He  wished  to  God 
it  had  been  Paschkin's  body.  How  he  would  have 
rejoiced  in  the  trampling ! 

It  was  early  summer,  but  the  season  had  been  late 
and  the  waters  were  still  out  on  every  side,  tinkling 
among  the  rocks  and  rushing  down  the  valleys.  The 
weather  was  mild  and  open,  and  he  heard  the  cuckoo 
calling  in  the  woods. 

At  night  he  sought  cover  among  the  pines  and  firs, 
and  built  himself  a  fire  for  the  sake  of  its  cheer,  and  sat 
brooding  over  it  till  it  died.  And  sometimes  he  would 
sit  and  curse  Paschkin.  And  sometimes  he  thought  of 
none  but  Katia  and  his  little  Katenka,  and  he  would  lie 
prone  on  his  face,  murmuring  their  names  in  agony  of 
craving.  But,  sooner  or  later,  he  would  make  himself 
a  bed  of  green-tipped  twigs  on.  last  year's  needles,  and 
lie  down  and  sleep  as  Governor  Paschkin  never  slept, 
and  would  rise  refreshed. 

And  on  the  third  day,  having  seen  no  man  since  he 
left  Verkinsk,  his  life  began  to  lift  its  head  again,  for 
hope  dies  hard  in  a  man,  and  a  tiny  seedling  sprang  up 
in  his  heart,  and  put  out  its  little  white  shoots. 

The  idea  gradually  grew  in  him  that  Katia  and  little 
Katenka  might  possibly  —  just  possibly  —  be  recover- 
able from  the  wreckage  after  all.  In  his  utter  desola- 


148  THE   LONG  ROAD 

tion,  in  these  vast  silences  and  solitudes,  face  to  face 
with  Nature  only  and  whatever  might  be  behind  her, 
his  heart  craved  for  them  till  at  times  he  cried  their 
names  aloud  to  still  the  pain  that  wrung  him.  For  the 
very  sound  of  their  names  made  him  feel  a  little  less 
lonely. 

Nothing  else  mattered.  Business,  home,  future 
prospects,  —  those  taken  and  those  left,  —  all  these 
came  to  be  very  little  things  in  his  eyes.  The  loss  of 
everything  had  hit  him  hard  at  first.  The  blank  misery 
of  the  future  had  beaten  him  down.  But  as  his  heart 
recovered  itself  it  found  these  things  as  nothing  com- 
pared with  those  others.  He  had  got  down  to  the 
essentials.  If  only  he  could  have  Katia,  and  the  little 
Katenka,  and  himself  —  all  the  rest  might  go. 

If  Katia  had  gone  to  her  father  at  Selemsinsk,  as  he 
had  bidden  her,  there  might  be  reasonable  ground  for 
hope,  he  thought.  Selemsinsk  was  indeed  in  Irkutsk, 
and  Irkutsk  was  closed  to  him.  But  it  was  five  hun- 
dred miles  from  Irkutsk  city  and  less  than  fifty  from 
the  border.  He  would  travel  down  the  border  line  till 
he  came  to  the  nearest  point  to  Selemsinsk  and  then  — 

The  penalty  of  failure  would  of  course  be  death. 
But  better  to  die  striving  for  that  which  was  dearer 
than  life  than  live  alone  for  fifty  years  and  die  alone 
by  the  roadside  at  last. 

He  did  not  close  his  eyes  to  the  fact  that  it  would  be 
a  terribly  trying  life  for  his  wife  and  child,  ever  moving 


THE  LONG  ROAD  149 

on,  moving  on,  in  summer  and  winter,  in  sickness  and 
health,  till  Death  said,  "Stop  !" 

But  he  knew  Katia,  and  he  knew  that  no  ease  and 
comfort  of  home  and  friends  would  satisfy  her  without 
him.  No,  he  had  no  fears  as  to  what  Katia  would  do 
if  only  the  chance  offered. 

Nor  did  he  close  his  eyes  to  the  fact  that  the  diffi- 
culties ahead  of  him  were  well-nigh  insuperable.  For 
even  if  he  recovered  Katia  and  the  child,  how  was  he 
to  hold  them  ? 

Would  the  police  grant  Katia  her  papers?  If  not, 
they  might  be  stopped  at  the  first  town  they  came  to. 

Would  Paschkin's  senseless  venom  pursue  her  as  it 
had  himself,  or  would  it  be  satisfied  with  the  ruin  it 
had  already  wrought?  That  he  would  learn  at  Selem- 
sinsk.  Till  then  he  would  hope. 

So  for  thirty  days  he  tramped,  crossing  hills  and 
rivers,  and  the  long  fertile  plains  which  would  soon  be 
all  ablaze  with  their  full  summer  glory.  He  met  very 
few  travellers,  and  those  mostly  downcast  men  like 
himself,  who  regarded  him  with  suspicion  and  seemed 
desirous  to  escape  observation.  Some  watched  him 
furtively  with  speculative  eyes,  from  shelter  of  rock  or 
bush,  but  let  him  pass  in  peace  when  they  saw  that  he 
looked  no  better  off  than  themselves.  These  were  such 
as  had  answered  the  call  of  the  cuckoo  and  broken 
bounds  at  risk  of  life  for  the  brief  freedom  of  the 
summer. 


150  THE  LONG  ROAD 

Now  and  again  he  stopped  the  night  at  a  peasant's 
house,  and  found  first  suspicious,  then  sympathetic, 
hosts,  for  all  knew  Paschkin  and  his  ways.  And  these 
would  take  no  money  for  the  little  they  could  give,  but 
joined  fervently  in  his  comminations  of  the  Governor, 
and  pressed  their  scanty  food  upon  him  to  help  him  on 
his  way. 


CHAPTER  XXXV 

AT  last  he  found  himself  beyond  the  borders  of  Ir- 
kutsk, and  turned  his  face  at  once  to  the  south  in  the 
direction  of  his  hopes.  He  plodded  on  till  he  learned 
that  Selemsinsk  lay  to  the  east  across  the  border. 
Then,  taking  his  life  in  his  hands  and  four  days'  pro- 
visions in  his  wallet,  he  crossed  the  forbidden  line 
again  and  pressed  forward  toward  his  heart's  desire. 

Villages  he  avoided  by  instinct,  and  he  went  near  no 
house,  and  on  the  third  day  he  saw  in  the  distance  the 
pointed  spire  and  long  line  of  straggling  roofs  which 
were  Selemsinsk. 

He  waited  till  all  the  lights  were  out,  then  crept  like 
a  thief  to  the  back  of  the  house  where  Vasili  Totsin 
lived.  He  had  no  difficulty  in  reaching  it  unobserved, 
for  all  the  houses  faced  the  single  street  and  their  backs 
lay  open  to  the  country,  and  Vasili's  house  was  the  first 
you  came  to  on  the  road  from  Yeniseisk. 

He  tapped  on  a  shutter  and  waited.  He  heard  a  stir 
inside  and  a  murmur  of  surprise.  It  required  many 
tappings,  however,  before  the  voice  of  one  who  had 
been  listening  for  some  time  behind  the  shutter  asked 
cautiously,  " Who  is  it?" 

"Open,  Vasili  Vasilievitch !  It  is  I,  Stepan  Iline," 
in  a  whisper. 


152  THE  LONG  ROAD 

Another  surprised  murmur,  and  presently  the  door 
was  quietly  unbolted,  and  he  slipped  stealthily  in,  and 
stood  before  Totsin  and  Marya  Feodorovna,  whose 
faces  were  twisted  with  anxious  surprise. 

By  the  glimmer  of  a  shaded  lamp  they  eyed  him 
doubtfully  and  with  some  fear.  The  manner  of  his 
coming  implied  trouble.  He  looked  back  at  them  with 
equal  surprise,  and  asked  quickly:  "Katia?  Is  she 
not  here,  and  the  little  Katenka?" 

"Here?  No.  Why  should  she  be  here,  Stepan 
Ivanovitch  ?  And  why  do  you  come  like  a  thief  in  the 
night?"  asked  Totsin. 

" Katia  not  here?  Then  you  have  not  heard?  I 
hoped  to  find  her  here."  And  he  quickly  told  them  the 
whole  matter. 

"It  has  taken  her  longer  to  settle  our  affairs  than  I 
expected,"  he  said  stoutly.  "I  must  come  again,  and 
then  we  will  go  away  together." 

"  Ach !"  said  the  mother,  with  an  anxious  face.  "It 
will  be  a  sore  life  for  Katia  and  the  little  one,  Stepan 
Ivanovitch." 

"Not  what  I  would  choose,  matushka,  and  none  of 
my  choosing.  But  maybe  we  can  smooth  it.  I  have 
been  thinking  much  as  I  walked,  and  I  have  been 
walking  for  two  months." 

"And  what  have  you  been  thinking?"  asked  Totsin, 
whose  little  eyes  had  been  winking  vigorously,  to  keep 
his  thoughts  from  peeping  out. 


THE  LONG  ROAD  15^ 

"Katia  should  bring  three  or  four  thousand  roubles," 
—  at  which  the  crafty  little  eyes  of  Katia's  father 
snapped  more  vigorously  than  ever,  —  "or  they  may 
come  to  you  through  Simon  Rapin.  With  them,  I 
have  been  thinking,  I  could  set  up  as  travelling  trader. 
Travel  I  must  —  may  Paschkin's  soul  dwell  in  torment 
for  ever !  —  and  trade  I  can.  I  will  build  a  house  on 
a  telega  for  Katia  and  the  little  one,  and  we  will  travel 
together." 

"It  will  be  weary  work  at  times,"  said  the  mother. 

" It  will  be  for  Katia  to  decide,"  said  Stepan.  "If 
she  would  sooner  stop  here  —  well !  But  I  think  she 
will  come  with  me." 

Vasili  Vasilievitch  in  his  own  mind  decided  that, 
under  the  circumstances,  a  daughter's  proper  place 
was  in  her  father's  house,  especially  a  daughter  with 
three  or  four  thousand  roubles.  Bozhe-moi,  with  three 
of  four  thousand  roubles  one  could  — 

"Yes,  yes,  Katia  must  decide,"  said  he,  blinking 
like  an  owl.  "You  don't  think  his  Excellency  would 
put  any  hindrance  in  the  way  of  her  coming,  Stepan 
Ivanovitch?" 

It  was  the  one  fear  that  had  been  in  Stepan' s  own 
mind  all  along.  He  answered  the  more  brusquely. 

"  Why  should  he  ?  He  had  no  grounds  for  complaint 
against  me.  What  has  Katia  done  ?  " 

"Nothing!  But  then,  neither  had  you,  and  she  is 
your  wife,  and  he  is  Paschkin." 


154  THE   LONG  ROAD 

Stepan  nodded  gloomily.  "That  is  true,  and 
Paschkin  is  the  Devil." 

"Will  you  stop  the  night  with  us,  Stepan  Ivano- 
vitch?"  asked  Marya  Feodorovna,  nervously. 

"I  must  get  back  to  the  hills  before  it  is  light,  ma- 
tushka.  But  I  will  eat,  and  you  will  give  me  food  to 
take  with  me.  I  will  come  again  in  thirty  days." 

"It  is  dangerous,"  said  Totsin.  "If  you  were 
caught  —  " 

"I  shall  not  be  caught."  And  after  eating,  he  stole 
away  as  quietly  as  he  had  come. 

And  as  he  pushed  through  the  dark  toward  the  hills, 
he  could  not  rid  himself  of  the  recollection  of  his  father- 
in-law's  blinking  eyes,  and  the  crafty  look  that  had  come 
into  his  face  at  mention  of  the  money. 

"He  will  do  his  best  to  keep  Katia,"  said  Stepan 
to  himself. 


CHAPTER   XXXVI 

THREE  separate  times,  at  intervals  of  a  month, 
Stepan  ventured  in  again  at  risk  of  his  life,  brimming 
each  time  as  he  neared  the  house  with  the  hope  of 
clasping  his  wife  and  child  in  his  arms  once  more. 
God  !  how  he  ached  for  them  !  At  times  the  gnawing 
heart  hunger  so  overcame  him  that  he  would  lie  down 
in  the  woods,  and  claw  his  fingers  deep  into  the  bed  of 
pine  needles,  and  bite  them  with  his  teeth  and  beat  the 
ground  with  his  feet.  And  each  time  he  went,  and 
found  them  still  not  come,  his  heart  was  wrung  with 
new  fears. 

The  times  between  his  visits  he  spent  in  aimless 
wanderings  along  the  border,  avoiding  towns  and  vil- 
lages-as  much  as  possible,  stopping  a  day  or  two  with 
stray  peasants,  living  sometimes  for  days  together  in 
the  open,  fearful  all  the  time  lest  his  haunting  of  the 
border  should  set  the  police  on  the  track  of  his  hopes, 
and  racked  with  anxieties  for  his  wife  and  child. 

His  money  was  running  low;  for  though  he  spent 
little,  it  was  still  all  outgoing  and  nothing  coming  in. 
The  prospect  of  sooner  or  later  having  to  beg  his  bread 
was  staring  him  in  the  face,  when  a  slice  of  luck  fell 
to  him,  and  opened  new  doors  to  his  failing  heart, 
and  helped  him  to  his  feet  again. 


156  THE  LONG  ROAD 

He  was  plodding  along  the  lower  slopes  of  the  Altais 
one  day,  when,  turning  a  corner,  he  came  on  a  des- 
perately unequal  struggle  going  on  in  the  road  in  front. 

A  dejected  horse,  harnessed  to  a  laden  telega,  hung 
its  head  forlornly  in  the  middle  of  the  road  and  took  no 
interest  in  the  fight  of  which  it  was  one  of  the  objects. 

Three  rough  tramps,  armed  with  sticks,  were  doing 
their  best  to  make  an  end  of  the  owner  of  the  telega,  a 
gray-haired  man  with  a  long  beard.  And  he,  armed 
only  with  another  stick,  and  his  back  against  his  prop- 
erty, was  striving  frantically  to  beat  them  off,  but  with 
little  chance  against  such  odds. 

One  of  the  ruffians  had  slipped  round  to  the  other 
side  of  the  cart,  and  was  just  about  to  bring  down  his 
cudgel  on  the  gray  head,  when  Iline  ran  in  with  a  shout 
and  bowled  him  over  with  a  cracked  skull,  and  then  ran 
round  and  set  to  with  hearty  goodwill  on  the  others. 

They  faced  him  for  a  moment,  but  only  for  a  moment. 
The  open-air  life  had  braced  and  strengthened  him 
mightily,  and  he  was  a  big  man  before.  He  looked 
objectionably  capable  of  beating  them  into  pulp. 
Then,  too,  he  was  in  one  of  his  desperate  moods  con- 
cerning Katia  and  little  Katenka.  All  day  he  had  been 
aching  for  something  to  rend  and  tear  —  Paschkin 
from  choice,  but  anything  would  do.  And  here  was 
his  chance. 

The  raiders  saw  it  in  his  eyes,  and  turned  and  bolted. 

The  gray-haired  man  seated  himself  in  the  middle 


THE  LONG  ROAD  157 

of  the  road  and  rested  his  hands  on  the  ground,  and  sat 
there  panting  and  looking  at  Stepan,  and  Stepan  saw 
that  he  was  a  Jew. 

"  You  came  —  in  the  nick  —  of  time,"  panted  the  old 
man .  ' '  Another  minute  — ' ' 

"And  you  would  have  had  a  sore  head,"  said  Stepan. 
"Have  a  drink  and  you  will  feel  better,"  and  he  got  him 
water  from  a  stream  that  brawled  across  the  road,  and 
took  a  long  pull  himself  and  mopped  his  forehead  with 
his  sleeve. 

As  the  old  man  struggled  to  his  feet  and  felt  his 
bruises,  he  caught  sight  of  the  body  on  the  other  side 
of  the  wagon  and  went  round  and  bent  over  it. 

"  It  is  well,"  he  said  quietly.   "  May  the  lesson  serve  !  " 

"What  shall  we  do  with  him?" 

"Let  him  lie.  You  struck  hard,  but  his  head  is 
harder,  and  without  doubt  his  heart  is  harder  still. 
He  would  have  killed  me." 

Then  he  fixed  a  pair  of  keen  black  eyes  on  Stepan, 
and  regarded  him  carefully,  and  said:  "I  am  Peter 
Krop.  Who  are  you?" 

"I  am  Stepan  Iline." 

"Iline!"  said  the  old  man,  musingly,  and  continued 
to  weigh  him  with  his  glance ;  and  presently  he  seemed 
satisfied,  for  he  said:  "If  your  way  lies  with  mine, 
Stepan  Iline,  I  will  give  you  a  lift,"  and  they  both  got 
on  to  the  wagon,  and  the  old  horse  went  on  as  if  nothing 
had  happened. 


158  THE   LONG  ROAD 

"  Whence  do  you  come  and  where  do  you  go,  Stepan 
Iline?"  asked  the  Jew. 

"I  wander  to  and  fro,"  said  Stepan. 

"Like  the  Devil.  It  is  not  a  profitable  calling  for  a 
man." 

"It  is  not  my  choice,"  said  Stepan,  shortly. 

"Then  why  do  it?" 

"Because  Paschkin  says  so." 

"Ah !  Paschkin  !  Son  of  Satan  !  I,  too,  have  felt 
Paschkin.  He  robbed  me  and  whipped  me.  Tell  me 
how  it  was,"  and  as  they  bumped  slowly  along  Stepan 
told  him. 

"Paschkin  is  the  Devil,"  was  the  old  man's  comment 
when  he  had  done,  and  he  mused  upon  it  for  a  long 
time. 

"You  have  money,  you  say,"  he  said  at  last. 

"I  had,  —  money  and  home  and  business  and  wife 
and  child.  Now  I  have  this  stick  and  I  do  not  know 
if  I  have  anything  else,"  said  Stepan,  bitterly. 

"If  you  are  from  Irkutsk,  you  should  know  Simon 
Rapin." 

"I  did  business  with  him.     He  is  an  honest  man." 

"He  is  down  with  the  fever  at  Krasnoiarsk.  He  has 
lain  there  this  two  months." 

"Ah!  Then  that  is  what  has  kept  Katia,"  said 
Stepan,  grasping  gladly  at  any  valid  reason  for  her  delay. 
"I  told  her  to  deal  with  Simon.  She  is  waiting  for 
him." 


THE  LONG  ROAD  159 

"He  is  a  hard  man  at  a  bargain,  but  he  is  honest," 
and  they  jogged  on,  each  full  of  his  own  thoughts. 

They  drew  near  to  a  village  at  last,  and  the  old  man 
said:  "You  will  stop  the  night  with  me  at  the  inn.  It 
is  a  poor  inn,  but  it  is  better  than  none.  I  would  talk 
with  you.  You  served  me,  perhaps  I  can  serve  you." 

And  the  upshot  of  it  all  was  that  when  Peter  Krop  had 
done  his  business  in  the  village,  and  they  had  had  supper, 
he  made  that  proposal  to  Stepan  which  opened  new  doors 
in  his  life,  and  gave  him  new  interests,  and  helped  to 
keep  his  heart  alive. 

"I  believe  you  are  an  honest  man,  Stepan  Iline," 
said  old  Peter,  "and  you  saved  my  life  and  my  goods. 
I  make  you  a  proposal.  By  order  of  Paschkin  —  may 
his  soul  rest  in  everlasting  torment !  —  you  must  be 
ever  on  the  road.  We  will  turn  it  to  account.  You 
shall  turn  trader  again,  and,  as  you  are  an  honest  man, 
the  curse  shall  turn  into  a  blessing.  I  will  fit  you  out 
with  goods  and  horse  and  wagon,  and  the  profits  we 
will  divide  as  we  may  agree.  What  do  you  say?" 

"I  say  yes,  Peter  Krop,  and  I  am  grateful  to  you  with 
all  my  heart." 

"So !  The  adventure  will  pay  me  first  ten  per  cent 
for  my  outlay,  and  of  the  rest  I  will  take  three  shares  and 
you  will  take  one,  until  such  time  as  you  can  save  or 
get  money  of  your  own.  Then  we  can  rearrange." 

"It  is  agreed  and  you  may  trust  me,  Peter  Krop." 

"I  trust  you  or  I  should  not  have  proposed  it.     I  do 


160  THE  LONG  ROAD 

not  trust  people  as  a  rule,  because  they  are  mostly 
knaves  or  fools,  and  I  am  neither  one  nor  the  other." 

"There  is  one  thing,  however, "  said  Stepan,  thought- 
fully. "  My  wife  may  reach  her  father's  house  at  Selem- 
sinsk  any  day.  I  shall  want  to  go  in  each  month  to 
see  if  she  has  come." 

"It  is  dangerous,"  said  the  old  man,  with  equal 
thought.  "If  Paschkin  hears  of  it,  you  will  never  come 
out,"  which  fact  was  so  obvious  that  Stepan  replied 
only  with  a  nod. 

"And  your  wife's  father  is —  "  asked  Peter. 

"Vasili  Totsin." 

"Ah !"  and  the  word  held  a  world  of  meaning,  and 
he  fell  thoughtful  for  a  space. 

"I  remember  you  now.  It  was  in  my  mind  that  we 
had  met.  And  I  knew  Katia  Vasilievna  and  Marya 
Feodorovna.  She  is  a  shrewd  hand  at  a  bargain." 

"  Do  you  know  what  Vasili  Totsin  will  do  ?  "  he  asked, 
after  further  pondering. 

"He  will  try  to  keep  Katia  and  the  money.  But 
Katia  will  follow  me.  It  is  Katia  and  my  little  Katenka 
that  I  want.  Do  you  think,  Peter  Krop,  that  Paschkin 
has  prevented  them  coming?" 

"Paschkin  is  capable  of  anything.  God  torment 
him  !  He  robbed  me  of  four  thousand  roubles  and  well- 
nigh  flayed  me  into  the  bargain.  Tatukof,  the  governor 
here,  is  bad  enough  and  a  grasping  man.  But  he  is  an 
angel  compared  with  Paschkin,  and  he  is  not  a  mad- 


THE   LONG   ROAD  161 

man.  Perhaps  I  can  get  you  news  of  your  wife,  Stepan 
Ivanovitch.  Better  not  go  to  Selemsinsk  again  till 
you  know  that  she  is  there." 

"Get  me  news  and  I  shall  be  grateful,"  said  Stepan. 
"It  crushes  my  heart  to  hear  no  word  of  them." 

"You  saved  my  life  and  my  goods.  I  will  do  what 
I  can,"  said  Peter  Krop. 


CHAPTER   XXXVII 

So  a  new  life  began  for  Stepan,  and  if  only  his  heart 
had  not  been  away  in  Irkutsk  city,  while  his  body 
perambulated  the  bad  roads  of  Yeniseisk,  he  might  still 
have  been  happy  in  spite  of  all  Paschkin's  decrees. 
For  where  a  man's  treasure  is  his  heart  is,  and  the  one 
sole  desire  of  Stepan  Iline's  heart  was  for  his  wife  Katia 
and  the  little  Katenka. 

Still,  Peter  Krop  had  said  he  would  get  news  of  them, 
and  the  Jews  were  marvellous  people,  if  sometimes 
rapacious  beyond  nature.  It  would  take  time,  doubtless, 
for  traffic  between  Yeniseisk  and  Irkutsk  was  not  too 
well  regulated,  and  Peter  Krop's  inquiries  could  only 
be  made  as  opportunity  served;  and,  like  himself, 
Peter  was  ever  on  the  move. 

So  he  bore  himself  stoutly  and  proved  himself  a 
satisfactory  trader,  and  that  which  had  seemed  like  to 
break  his  life  sat  lightly  upon  him  and  in  itself  troubled 
him  little.  Never  once  had  he  transgressed  the  de- 
cree, nor  had  he  felt  as  yet  the  desire  to  do  so.  That 
time  was  to  come. 

With  money  accumulating  in  his  pockets,  he  need 
never  lack  such  comforts  as  the  villages  afforded.  He 

made  many  friends,   too,  among    the   cottagers   who 

162 


THE   LONG  ROAD  163 

were  his  customers,  and  even  among  the  wilder 
nomads  of  the  upper  valleys  and  the  steppes.  His 
grave,  quiet  manners,  the  perfect  fairness  of  all  his 
dealings,  and  the  harsh  treatment  of  which  he  was 
the  subject  enlisted  their  sympathies.  One  and  all, 
they  were  exposed  to  similar  usage  at  any  time,  and 
a  fellow-feeling  made  them  kind. 

He  had  at  first  feared  friction  with  the  police  on  ac- 
count of  his  traversing  the  country  more  than  once. 
Peter  Krop,  however,  made  that  all  right  with  Governor 
Tatukof,  by  means  best  and  only  known  to  himself 
and  the  Governor,  but  which  would  not  perhaps  be 
difficult  to  guess  at  the  first  attempt. 

For  the  first  few  months  old  Peter  so  arranged  their 
journeys  that  they  met  at  intervals,  squared  accounts, 
rearranged  their  stocks,  and  then  went  on  their  various 
ways.  But  Peter  Krop  had  not  lived  sixty-five  years 
in  a  cunning  world  without  learning  men,  and  he 
trusted  this  man  completely.  And  so,  by  degrees,  the 
range  of  their  travel  was  extended,  and  they  met  less 
frequently,  for  Peter  knew  that  whenever  they  did 
meet,  his  ten  per  cent  and  his  seventy-five  per  cent  of 
the  profits  would  be  ready  for  him,  and  he  went  on  his 
way  with  a  mind  at  ease. 

But  all  the  time  Stepan's  heart  was  in  Irkutsk  city, 
and  the  hunger  grew  and  grew,  and  bit  him  hard  at 
times,  and  to  ease  it,  and  to  occupy  his  spare  time,  he 
set  to  building  that  house  on  wheels  of  which  he  had 


164  THE   LONG  ROAD 

spoken  to  his  mother-in-law,  as  a  travelling  shelter  for 
his  wife  and  child. 

During  the  midday  halts,  and  in  the  long  winter 
evenings  when  the  journeys  were  short,  he  wrought  out 
his  ideas  bit  by  bit,  sawing  and  planing,  and  shaping 
and  fitting,  with  careful  hand  and  cunning  device,  work- 
ing all  his  heart's  hunger  into  the  little  structure,  and 
withal  many  a  loving  thought  of  those  he  hoped  to  see 
occupying  it  before  long.  It  took  much  planning,  and 
many  months  of  steady,  hard  work,  before  he  had  all 
the  parts  complete  and  ready  to  be  put  together.  And 
then  he  went  on  one  of  his  journeys  as  far  as  Krasnoiarsk 
and  stopped  there  his  whole  ten  days,  while  Ivan 
Narasof,  the  famous  builder  of  tarantases,  finished  the 
work  according  to  his  carefully  thought-out  ideas. 

It  was  the  most  wonderful  contrivance  that  country 
had  ever  seen,  and  Ivan  and  his  men  scratched  their 
heads  nearly  bald,  and  gaped  to  danger  point,  at  the 
strange  things  they  were  called  upon  to  compass  by 
Stepan's  directions. 

And  when  it  was  finished  the  people  came  from  far 
and  near  to  see  it,  and  to  gape  and  scratch  their  heads 
also.  The  general  impression  prevailed  that  it  was  a 
travelling  church,  or  a  carriage  for  the  conveyance  of 
holy  images.  And  so,  in  sooth,  it  was,  but  not  of  the 
kind  they  thought,  for  what  holier  images  may  any 
man  carry  with  him  than  his  wife  and  child  ? 

It  was  built  on  a  broad,  wooden  platform,  and  the 


THE  LONG  ROAD  165 

superstructure  was  light,  but  strong  and  roomy.  It 
contained  a  table,  and  seats  against  the  walls,  and  cup- 
boards and  shelves.  And  smoother  bed  than  the  floor 
no  one  need  wish,  when  its  asperities  were  softened  by 
hay-filled  mattresses. 

A  window  of  thin-shaved  horn  at  the  back  gave  a 
certain  light,  but  the  front  door  above  the  horses'  backs 
would  give  both  light  and  air,  and  a  knee-high  barrier 
there  would  furnish  both  a  seat  for  the  driver  and  a 
safe  place  of  observation  for  a  pair  of  merry  blue  eyes 
below  a  sun  of  yellow  curls  and  a  cotton  skull  cap. 

The  wheels  were  broad  and  strong  to  combat  rock 
and  mud,  and  when  the  snows  came  they  could  be  un- 
shipped and  replaced  by  runners.  Oh,  it  was  all  most 
marvellously  contrived,  and  no  wonder  it  excited  as- 
tonishment in  Narasof  and  his  men.  They  built  the 
best  tarantases  in  all  Siberia,  but  they  built  with  hand 
and  brain,  and  very  much  more  than  those  common 
things  went  to  the  making  of  Stepan's  travelling 
church. 

And  still  no  news  came  of  Katia  and  the  child,  and 
his  heart  was  full  of  anxieties,  and  he  began  to  fear 
that  Peter  Krop  had  forgotten,  or  had  failed,  or  had 
perhaps  come  to  grief,  for  he  was  making  a  long  journey 
through  Omsk  and  Tomsk,  and  the  road  always  held 
possibilities  of  disaster. 

It  was  eleven  months  since  he  parted  from  Katia 
and  the  little  Katenka  in  Irkutsk  city,  and  so  very 


i66  THE  LONG  ROAD 

much  might  happen  in  eleven  months,  or  in  one  short 
hour,  for  that  matter.  He  hardly  dared  to  think  of  it 
all,  for  fear  made  his  heart  sick,  and  his  face  grew 
careworn  and  haggard. 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII 

THEN  one  day  when  he  was  journeying  south,  and 
had  compelled  himself  with  difficulty  past  the  point 
nearest  to  Selemsinsk,  he  and  Peter  Krop  met  face  to 
face,  not  very  far  from  the  place  where  they  fell  across 
one  another  that  first  time.  And  old  Peter  sat  down 
on  the  roadside  at  sight  of  the  wonderful  house  on 
wheels,  and  in  the  ensuing  settlement  of  accounts  he 
watched  warily  to  see  if  any  of  it  had  come  out  of  his 
share.  But  even  now,  before  he  was  quite  satisfied 
that  it  had  not,  he  could  not  but  admire  it  greatly. 

"You  travel  like  a  prince,  Stepan  Ivanovitch,"  said 
he. 

"I  built  for  my  wife  and  child  and  with  my  own 
money,"  said  Stepan,  knowing  his  man.  "Have  you 
any  news  for  me,  Peter  Krop?" 

"They  should  be  at  Selemsinsk  by  this  time." 

"God  be  thanked  for  that !"  said  Stepan,  fervently, 
and  turned  his  horse  round  to  start  at  once  for  Selem- 
sinsk. The  old  man  hitched  his  horse  behind  the 
house  on  wheels  and  climbed  up  into  the  front  seat, 
and  stuck  his  head  in  through  the  door,  and  marvelled 
at  all  he  saw,  the  Tatar  rugs  on  the  walls,  the  dressed 

skins  on  the  floor,  and  all  the  numberless  little  con- 

167 


i68  THE   LONG  ROAD 

trivances  for  comfort  which  Stepan's  heart  had 
devised. 

"I,  too,  will  travel  like  a  prince  for  once,  since  it  costs 
nothing,"  he  said. 

"Now  tell  me  your  news,  Peter  Krop,"  said  Stepan, 
and  whipped  up  his  horses  and  started  to  follow  his 
heart,  which  was  already  in  Selemsinsk.  "What  has 
kept  them  so  long?" 

"Paschkin—  " 

"May  his  soul  rest  in  torment !" 

"God  grant  it !  There  have  been  other  things.  But 
chiefly  Paschkin.  He  would  not  permit  your  wife  to 
leave  Irkutsk  city.  Then  she  had  difficulties  in  settling 
up  your  affairs." 

"They  would  all  take  advantage  of  my  misfortune, 
of  course." 

"And  Simon  Rapin  being  ill  he  could  not  help  her. 
But  now  he  is  better  and  has  done  what  he  could.  Yet 
it  is  doubtful  if  he  could  have  got  her  away  but  for  the 
raiding  over  beyond  the  Tchilka,  which  took  Paschkin 
down  that  way,  and  she  seized  the  opportunity.  You 
see,  Simon  could  not  afford  to  help  her  openly.  It 
might  have  meant  ruin  to  him.  However,  she  was 
leaving  Irkutsk  city  a  month  ago,  and  she  should  be  at 
Selemsinsk  by  this." 

"  God  be  thanked  !    I  will  go  and  fetch  her." 

"It  will  be  better  for  me  to  go.  You  run  great  risk. 
But  I  must  go  first  to  Minusinsk.  I  agreed  to  meet  a 


THE   LONG   ROAD  169 

man  there,  and  if  we  do  not  meet  now,  we  shall  not 
meet  for  a  year." 

"I  will  go  for  them,"  said  Stepan. 

"It  is  a  great  risk.  Ten  days,  twelve  at  the  most, 
and  I  will  go  in  for  them." 

"My  heart  eats  itself  till  I  have  them  in  my  arms, 
Peter  Krop.  I  will  go  for  them  myself.  The  risk  is 
nothing." 

The  old  man  shook  his  head  doubtfully,  but  he  saw 
that  argument  would  be  worse  than  useless  unless  he 
gave  up  Minusinsk,  and  that  his  business  instincts  cried 
out  against.  And  when  the  time  came  for  them  to 
part,  he  to  strike  off  to  the  west  while  Stepan  went  on 
due  north,  the  old  man  stood  by  his  wagon  in  the  road, 
still  shaking  his  head  doubtfully,  and  the  house  on 
wheels  bumped  stoutly  on  the  way  that  had  been 
appointed  for  it  before  ever  it  was  built. 

Stepan  left  it  with  a  peasant,  one  Gnut,  a  half-breed 
Soyot,  with  whom  he  had  stayed  more  than  once  and 
whom  he  could  trust.  He  was  a  simple  fellow,  with 
too  few  wits  to  be  dishonest,  who  lived  all  by  himself 
in  a  hut  on  a  branch  of  the  Yenisei,  and  supported  him- 
self by  fishing  and  trapping.  His  quiet,  incurious  dis- 
position had  commended  itself  to  Stepan's  sick  humour, 
and  they  had  become  such  good  friends  that  they  could 
sit  before  the  fire  by  the  hour  without  ever  passing  a 
word. 

Then,  without  the  loss  of  a  moment,  he  struck  off 


1 7o  THE   LONG  ROAD 

across  the  hills  to  Selemsinsk.  He  foresaw  all  the  diffi- 
culties, and  it  was  borne  in  upon  him,  with  each  step 
he  took,  that  Peter  Krop's  plan  would  have  been  the 
better  one,  for  Peter  was  free  to  do  what  he  chose,  and 
his  own  hands  were  tied. 

But  he  said  to  himself  that  he  could  not  possibly 
have  sat  idly,  with  Katia  and  little  Katenka  so  near 
at  hand.  His  heart  felt  like  bursting  as  it  was.  To 
have  waited  over  there,  while  old  Peter  did  his  business 
in  Minusinsk  and  journeyed  slowly  down  to  Selemsinsk 
and  brought  them  out  —  bozhe-moi,  that  was  quite 
too  much  to  expect  of  a  man !  He  had  waited  stoutly 
for  eleven  months,  but  those  few  days  would  have  been 
altogether  too  much  for  him. 

If  Katia  would  come  away  with  him  at  once,  he 
would  carry  little  Katenka  and  all  their  belongings  on 
his  back,  the  joyfullest  load  ever  man  carried  since  the 
world  began.  If  she  feared  to  make  the  journey  in 
such  fashion,  then  he  would  at  all  events  have  the  joy 
of  seeing  them  and  holding  them  in  his  arms  once  more, 
and  he  must  arrange  with  her  for  Peter  Krop  to  come 
in  and  bring  them  out  in  his  own  way. 

He  saw  just  how  to  do  it  if  it  had  to  come  to  that, 
and  he  shortened  his  journey  by  planning  it  all  out  to 
the  smallest  detail. 

Peter  would  hire  a  fast  three-horse  tarantas  and  drive 
through  Selemsinsk,  calling  at  Vasili  Totsin's  house  as 
he  went,  and  giving  Katia  her  directions.  The  follow- 


THE  LONG  ROAE  171 

ing  day  he  would  return.  Katia  and  Katenka,  with 
such  few  things  as  were  necessary,  would  be  out  along 
the  road  this  side  of  the  village,  as  far  along  it  as  possi- 
ble. Peter  Krop  would  drive  up,  in  they  would  jump, 
and  away  at  speed  to  the  waiting  heart  and  the  house 
on  wheels  across  the  border.  And  then  away  they 
would  go  for  a  four  months'  journey  into  the  Altais, 
and  if  the  police  in  Yeniseisk  raised  any  questions, 
Peter  Krop  would  deal  with  them  in  his  own  peculiarly 
convincing  way.  Oh,  yes,  all  would  be  well  when  once 
he  had  Katia  and  Katenka  by  his  side  again.  And  he 
went  on  merrily. 


CHAPTER  XXXIX 

HE  lay  in  the  hills  till  nightfall,  till  all  the  lights 
were  out,  till  the  village  slept,  and  then  stole  quietly 
down  to  that  house  which  he  could  have  found  blind- 
fold, that  blessed  little  temple  of  rough-trimmed  wood 
which  held  for  him  more  than  all  the  rest  of  the  world. 

He  tapped  on  the  shutter  and  waited.  There  was 
the  usual  murmur  of  surprise,  waxing  into  a  buzz  of 
low  talk,  then  a  light  showed  with  less  precaution  than 
usual,  and  he  pinched  his  lips  together  in  the  dark  at 
sight  of  it.  Then  came  the  usual  questioning,  and  a 
quite  unnecessarily  long  delay,  and  a  quite  unnecessary 
amount  of  noise  in  opening  the  door,  as  it  seemed  to 
him. 

His  heart  was  leaping  wildly  in  his  throat.  She  was 
there  inside.  He  was  sure  of  it. 

Would  that  accursed  door  never  open?  Heavens 
and  earth,  he  could  have  broken  it  down  in  half  the 
time ! 

But  it  opened  cautiously  at  last,  and  he  slipped  in 
like  a  shadow. 

"Katia!" 

"Stepan  !     My  man,  my  man  !"   and  she  was  in  his 

arms,  laughing,  and  weeping,  and  clinging  as  though 

172 


THE   LONG  ROAD  173 

she  would  never  let  him  go  again,  while  Vasili  Totsin 
stood  by  and  watched  them,  blinking  those  little  eyes 
of  his  more  rapidly  than  ever,  and  Marya  Feodo- 
rovna  and  Varia  beamed  joyfully  in  the  happiness 
that  radiated  from  them. 

And  then  they  held  one  another  at  arm's  length  and 
noted  the  changes  eleven  months  had  made,  and  then 
they  were  in  one  another's  arms  again. 

"She  is  more  beautiful  than  ever,"  thought  Stepan, 
as  his  hungry  eyes  devoured  her. 

"He  has  suffered  for  want  of  me,"  thought  Katia, 
"and  now  we  are  together,  and  we  will  not  part  again." 

Then  she  slipped  out  of  his  clinging  embrace  and 
away  into  the  back  room,  while  the  mother  and  Varia 
began  hastily  laying  out  food. 

Katia  came  back  in  a  moment,  bearing  on  one  arm 
a  rosy-faced  little  maid  whose  little  fists  were  still 
knuckling  the  sleep  out  of  her  astonished  eyes,  and  on 
the  other  arm  —  wonder  of  wonders  !  and  no  wonder 
Stepan  caught  his  breath  at  the  sight  —  a  chubby- 
faced  boy  of  three  months,  too  sound  asleep  even  to 
welcome  the  father  he  had  never  set  eyes  on. 

"  Our  little  Stepan,"  said  Katia,  with  mighty  motherly 
pride. 

"  Now,  God  be  praised  !  I  am  richer  than  I  thought," 
choked  Stepan,  in  his  great  astonishment. 

The  little  Katenka  stretched  two  welcoming  arms 
to  him,  and  he  caught  her  to  him  and  buried  her  in  his 


174  THE   LONG  ROAD 

beard,  and  looked  over  her  at  his  namesake  with  misty 
eyes. 

And  then  there  came  a  sudden  peremptory  knock  on 
the  outer  door,  and,  in  the  chill  silence  that  fell  upon 
them,  a  harsh  voice  sounded  outside  demanding  en- 
trance in  the  name  of  the  law. 

The  eyes  of  the  women,  sparkling  like  stars  one 
minute,  filled  the  next  with  amazed  fears,  and  their 
faces  fell,  drawn  and  white.  Vasili  Totsin's  eyes  blinked 
furiously  and  he  took  a  step  toward  the  door.  Stepan 
Iline  laid  Katenka  quickly  in  her  mother's  arms,  kissed 
Katia  over  the  children,  whispered  a  word  in  her  ear, 
and  blew  out  the  light,  as  the  hilt  of  a  sword  beat  again 
on  the  outer  door. 

Totsin,  decent,  law-abiding  man,  was  already 
fumbling  at  the  bolts,  and  presently  succeeded  in  open- 
ing it,  and  a  police  officer  and  half-a-dozen  men  came 
in  and  closed  the  door  behind  them. 

"Now  what  is  this,  Vasili  Vasilievitch ?  What  was 
a  light  doing  in  your  house  at  this  time  of  night  when 
honest  folks  are  all  asleep?  Light  that  lamp,  and  let 
us  see  what  is  toward." 

The  lamp  flickered  out  at  last,  on  the  faces  of  the 
trembling  women,  and  on  Totsin  gaping  and  blinking 
like  a  night-bird  roused  suddenly  from  sleep. 

The  chief  glanced  quickly  round  and  strode  to  the 
inner  room.  He  poked  in  dark  corners  with  his  sword 
and  swore  briskly,  but  came  back  empty-handed. 


THE  LONG  ROAD^  i75 

"Well,  are  you  all  dumb?"  he  shouted,  and  the 
children  began  to  cry. 

"It  was  the  children,  Excellency,"  murmured  Marya 
Feodorovna,  recovering  her  wits.  "They  were  crying 
so  that  we  feared  they  were  ill.  We  were  going  to 
warm  some  — " 

"Search  the  house,"  to  his  men,  and  they  turned  it 
upside  down,  while  the  women  stood  trembling,  and 
the  children  wailed,  and  the  officer  looked  sourly  at 
Totsin  and  wondered  whether  he  was  most  knave  or 
fool.  And  Vasili  blinked  deprecatingly  back  at  him, 
and  shifted  from  one  bare  foot  to  the  other,  and  said 
nothing. 

And  out  in  the  night  a  man  was  speeding  silently 
toward  the  hills,  sobbing  with  fury  till  he  choked  again, 
and  cursing  that  treacherous  blinker  in  the  house, 
for  he  knew  that  he  had  betrayed  him  for  sake  of  the 
money  Katia  had  brought  with  her. 

By  a  miracle  he  had  escaped  the  snare.  In  a  flash, 
as  the  light  went  out,  he  saw  the  one  bare  chance  of 
escape,  and  took  it.  He  slipped  to  the  side  of  the  open- 
ing door,  and  as  the  last  of  the  police  came  in,  he  slipped 
out. 

But  the  treachery  was  there  all  the  same,  and  it  bit 
into  his  soul,  and  he  loathed  the  very  thought  of  Vasili 
Totsin  save  as  a  subject  for  most  vehement  cursing. 


CHAPTER   XL 

ILINE  pushed  on  without  a  halt  all  through  the  night, 
possessed  by  the  fury  that  was  in  him.  Had  he  met  a 
man  with  blinking  eyes,  resembling  Vasili  Totsin  ever 
so  remotely,  it  would  have  gone  hard  with  him.  At 
times  the  recollection  of  Katia's  starry  eyes,  and  the 
rosy  little  Katenka,  and  that  new,  little,  round-faced 
wonder  came  upon  him,  and  he  sobbed  between  joy 
and  disappointment,  and  alternately  thanked  God 
and  cursed  Vasili  Totsin.  He  was  like  a  man  dying 
of  hunger,  to  whom  a  full  plate  is  offered  and  then 
capriciously  snatched  away. 

He  went  on  all  through  the  day,  drinking  now  and 
again  from  the  mountain  streams,  but  loathing  thought 
of  food,  and  so  came,  the  next  night,  to  Gnut's  cottage, 
and  fell  on  Gnut's  bed  and  slept  for  twenty-four  hours, 
and  woke  himself  and  very  hungry. 

He  ate  like  a  January  wolf,  harnessed  his  horses, 
made  Gnut  happy  with  a  bright  new  axe  and  a  knife, 
and  set  off  to  find  Peter  Krop. 

On  the  fourth  day  toward  Minusinsk  he  came  upon 
Peter,  hurrying  to  meet  him  and  vastly  relieved  at 
sight  of  him. 

"  I  was  full  of  fears  for  you,  Stepan  Ivanovitch," 
176 


THE  LONG  ROAI)  177 

said  Peter,  looking  at  the  house  on  wheels  for  sight  of 
Katia.  "I  am  right  glad  to  see  you.  How  have  you 
fared?" 

Stepan  told  him. 

"I  never  did  trust  Vasili  Totsin,"  was  all  Peter's 
comment,  and  then  they  laid  their  heads  together  for 
the  enlargement  of  Katia  and  the  children. 

Three  days  later  Vasili  Totsin  received  a  message, 
early  in  the  morning,  from  a  man  with  whom  he  had 
been  endeavouring  to  negotiate  a  loan,  and  who  lived 
at  Tertsaya,  some  eight  miles  away  on  the  Irkutsk 
road.  He  set  off  at  speed  and  in  very  good  spirits,  and 
did  not  get  back  till  nightfall,  very  puzzled,  very  angry, 
and  no  better  off  than  when  he  started. 

He  had  not  been  gone  an  hour  when  Peter  Krop's 
wagon,  emptied  of  everything  but  some  sacks  half 
filled  with  hay,  and  drawn  by  three  horses  yoked  abreast, 
drew  lightly  up  to  Totsin's  house,  and  old  Peter  asked 
for  Vasili.  Mrs.  Totsin  came  to  the  door,  no  longer 
hearty  and  cheerful,  but  red-eyed  and  worried- looking, 
and  told  him  that  Vasili  was  away. 

"I  know  it,  Marya  Feodorovna,"  said  old  Peter, 
softly.  "It  was  I  that  sent  him.  I  come  from  Stepan 
Ivanovitch  for  Katia  Vasilievna  and  the  children." 

"Ah!"  and  Marya 's  usual  motherly  face  began  to 
show  through  the  gloom. 

"Listen  now!"  said  Peter,  impressively.  "Two 
hours  from  now  I  shall  be  passing  here  again.  If  you 


178  THE  LONG  ROAD 

have  any  small  parcels  you  wish  me  to  take,  I  can  stop 
for  half  a  minute  at  your  door  and  you  can  throw  them 
in.  If  Katia  and  the  children  should  be  by  the  road- 
side as  far  out  of  the  village  as  possible  —  why,  they 
might  like  a  ride.  You  understand?" 

"I  understand.  God  be  good  to  you,  Peter  Krop ! 
You  take  a  load  off  my  heart.  Never  will  I  beat  down 
your  prices  again  as  long  as  I  live.  At  least  — 

"In  two  hours,"  and  Peter  drove  on  through  the  vil- 
lage, first  for  a  friendly  chat  with  the  chief  of  police, 
for  it  was  an  essential  part  of  his  business  policy  to  keep 
on  the  right  side  of  all  who  could  make  themselves  un- 
pleasant but  were  open  to  reason,  then  out  beyond  it, 
till  he  could  see  Vasili  Totsin's  figure  in  the  distance  as 
he  plodded  hopefully  along  the  hill  road  to  Tertsaya  to 
negotiate  a  loan  with  a  man  who  would  not  have  lent 
him  a  kopek  to  save  his  life. 

There  was  just  the  shadow  of  a  smile  in  Peter  Krop's 
deep  eyes  as  he  watched  him.  Then  he  got  down  and 
took  the  bits  out  his  horses'  mouths  and  gave  them  some 
oats  and  some  hay  out  of  one  of  the  sacks,  and  when 
two  hours  had  passed  he  drove  quietly  back  through 
Selemsinsk,  stopped  for  scarce  a  moment  at  Totsin's 
house  —  just  long  enough  for  Marya  Feodorovna  to 
fling  two  or  three  small  bundles  into  the  wagon  and  a 
meaning  nod  to  himself,  —  and  then  he  went  on  along 
the  highroad. 

At  last  he  saw  a  moving  figure  on  in  front,  and  as  he 


THE   LONG  ROAD  179 

watched  it  a  smaller  figure  ran  out  from  it  and  crossed 
the  road,  and  he  had  found  what  he  had  come  for. 

Only  a  young  woman  with  a  bright,  anxious  face,  and 
a  laughing  child,  and  a  sleeping  baby,  but  all  heaven 
and  earth  to  the  hungry  heart  that  counted  the  slow 
hours  up  in  Yeniseisk,  and  said  to  itself:  "Now  he 
should  be  there.  Now  they  should  have  started. 
Now  they  should  be  coming.  Why  don't  they  come? 
It  is  time.  It  is  time,"  —  and  then,  at  last,  the  merry 
beat  of  the  galloping  hoofs,  loud  and  soft,  on  rock  and 
mud,  —  oh,  the  cheer  of  the  rushing  feet  which 
brought  him  the  good  news  before  he  could  see  them ! 
And  so  at  last,  at  last,  with  a  sob  from  an  overstrained 
heart,  —  "Now,  God  be  praised,  they  are  here!" 

Of  that  meeting  how  shall  any  man  properly  tell? 
How  they  laughed  and  how  they  cried.  How  they  clung 
to  one  another  as  though  defying  any  earthly  power  to 
part  them  again  for  ever.  How  they  kissed  one  an- 
other as  though  kisses  alone,  and  in  very  great  quantity, 
could  wipe  out  the  bitter  memories  of  eleven  long 
months  of  heart-starvation.  How  little  Katenka  danced 
round  and  round  them  like  a  chubby,  distraught  elf, 
laughing  and  crying  because  they  did,  and  clutching 
wildly  first  at  one  and  then  at  the  other.  How  even 
Peter  Krop's  keen  eyes  swam  a  little  in  their  deep 
caverns  as  he  watched  them  patriarchally,  and  held 
little  Stepan  in  his  arms,  in  gingerly  and  unaccustomed 
fashion,  to  give  them  freer  play.  Perhaps  the  thought 


i8o  THE   LONG  ROAD 

of  other  men-children  he  had  held  in  his  arms  long  ago, 
and  none  since,  proved  too  much  for  him.  For,  of  a 
sudden,  he  became  a  man  of  business  again.  He  laid 
Stepan  Stepanovitch  in  his  mother's  arms,  and  set  to 
work  shifting  the  goods  and  the  horses. 

And  presently  he  stood  in  the  road  by  his  wagdn  and 
watched  the  house  on  wheels  bumping  away  toward 
the  Altais  as  fast  as  two  horses  could  carry  it,  and  he 
felt  himself  strangely  alone. 

And  Stepan  carried  in  his  breast,  where  he  had  stuffed 
it,  a  paper  which  Peter  had  handed  to  him,  saying, 
"That  is  on  account  of  my  debt  to  you,  Stepan  Ivano- 
vitch." 

And  Stepan,  thinking  at  first  that  it  was  material 
payment  of  some  kind,  had  been  for  refusing  it. 

"You  have  this  day  repaid  me  ten  times  over,  Peter 
Petrovitch,"  he  said.  And  then  he  glanced  at  the  paper 
and  stuffed  it  into  his  breast,  and  said :  "God  be  good  to 
you,  Peter  Krop.  A  Jew  shall  be  my  friend  wherever 
I  meet  him  from  this  day  for  your  sake." 

Great  was  the  power  of  money,  and  almost  as  great 
was  Governor  Tatukof's  constant  need  of  it.  The 
paper  was  Tatukof's  permission  for  Katia  Vasilievna 
to  travel  with  her  husband,  Stepan  Iline,  within  the 
province  of  Yeniseisk.  It  had  cost  Peter  Krop  a 
thousand  roubles,  and  for  once  he  did  not  regret  the 
paying  out  of  money,  even  to  Tatukof. 


CHAPTER  XLI 

THE  Altai  Mountains  are  very  beautiful  at  that  time 
of  year,  but  had  they  been  the  starkest  desolation  they 
would  still  have  been  heaven  to  these  newly- wedded 
souls,  for  we  make  our  own  heavens  and  carry  them  with 
us  where  we  will. 

Governor  Paschkin's  decree  hung  lightly  upon  the 
travellers  and  gave  them  as  yet  no  cause  for  concern. 
Life,  as  though  to  make  up  for  the  breaks  and  shal- 
lows of  the  past,  flowed  smooth  and  deep,  and  their  love 
touched  heights  it  had  never  known  before. 

Day  after  day  they  wound  slowly  up  among  the  hills, 
a  little  wandering  microcosm  of  pure  distilled  happiness. 
They  had  all  they  wanted,  and  more  than  ever  they 
had  dared  to  hope  for  a.gain.  The  storm  had  broken 
over  them,  but  now,  for  a  season,  the  sun  shone  out  warm 
and  bright,  and  by  contrast  seemed  to  them  even  brighter 
than  before. 

Stepan  marched  at  his  horses'  heads,  for  their  en- 
couragement on  the  long  up-grades,  and  talked  and 
laughed  out  of  %  the  fulness  of  his  heart  to  them  and  to 
Katenka  and  to  Katia,  and  even  to  little  Stepan,  who 
could  not  understand  a  word,  but  nevertheless  replied 

in  kind. 

181 


182  THE  LONG  ROAD 

To  please  Katenka,  he  fitted  the  high  wooden  arch 
over  the  neck  of  his  shaft  horse  with  bells,  not  just 
common  bells  such  as  any  horse  might  wear,  but  bells 
chosen  with  very  great  care,  —  a  deep-toned  " crimson" 
in  the  middle,  and  sweet,  silvery  tinklers  at  the  sides,  so 
that  the  sound  of  their  going  was  a  sound  of  sweet 
music,  which  chimed  along  the  hillsides  and  floated 
down  the  valleys  and  was  very  good  to  hear. 

And  little  Katenka  was  happy  as  the  day  was  long. 
She  flitted  like  a  humming-bird  from  patch  to  patch  of 
brilliant  colour  along  the  hillsides,  and  came  speeding 
back  with  mighty  treasure  of  fruit  and  flower,  —  wild 
raspberries  and  strawberries,  gentians,  pinks,  forget- 
me-nots,  roses,  —  and  full  of  merry  chatter  over  her 
discoveries,  till  the  house  on  wheels  looked  like  a  travel- 
ling garden  and  sounded  like  a  cage  of  twittering  love- 
birds. 

And  Katia  sat  in  the  doorway  of  the  house  with  little 
Stepan  in  her  arms,  and  watched  all  that  passed  with 
eyes  of  deep  content  and  a  heart  brimming  with  gratitude 
and  hope.  And  sometimes  she  sang  softly  to  herself 
and  Baby  Stepan,  and  then  the  very  horses  trod  lightly 
and  put  back  their  ears,  and  seemed  to  slacken  their 
speed  so  that  they  might  listen,  and  Stepan  said  to  him- 
self that  the  good  angels  in  heaven  could  sing  no  sweeter 
than  that,  and  perhaps  he  was  right. 

And,  bit  by  bit,  Katia  told  Stepan  of  all  her  troubles 
and  anxieties  after  he  left  Irkutsk  city.  How  the  men 


THE  LONG  ROAD  183 

who  owed  them  money  took  advantage  of  his  absence 
to  dispute  with  her,  and  to  get  off  payment  altogether 
when  they  could.  So  that  it  was  only  when  Simon 
Rapin  recovered  from  his  illness  that  she  was  able  to 
make  any  headway.  And  finally,  in  despair,  she  was 
glad  to  sell  everything,  stock  and  debts  and  business  and 
furniture,  to  Simon  for  a  round  sum  of  two  thousand 
roubles  and  an  undertaking  to  see  her  and  the  money 
and  the  children  safely  conveyed  to  Selemsinsk. 

Then  came  the  birth  of  little  Stepan  and  Paschkin's 
interference  with  her  going  and  more  delays,  till  she 
lost  heart  at  times  and  doubted  if  ever  she  would  see 
her  husband  again. 

She  told  him,  too,  how  her  mother  had  penetrated  her 
father's  treachery,  and  of  the  trouble  it  had  made  in  the 
home. 

"She  will  never  forgive  him,  Stepan,  and  he  knows 
it,"  said  Katia.  "  She  is  an  honest  woman,  is  my  mother, 
and  ones  does  not  forget  a  thing  like  that." 

"  Since  you  are  here,  my  Katenka,  I  forgive  every- 
body, even  Paschkin,"  said  Stepan,  forcefully;  "and  as 
to  the  money,  the  sight  of  your  face  up  there  is  more  to 
me  than  all  the  money  in  all  the  world.  There  are  some 
things  you  can't  buy  with  money,  and,  God  be  thanked, 
I've  got  them!" 

Nevertheless  the  money  was  useful,  since  it  enabled 
him  to  buy  his  own  goods,  and  quadrupled  his  profits, 
and  set  him  fairly  on  his  own  feet. 


i84  THE  LONG  ROAD 

At  sunset  each  day,  they  would  choose  some  quiet 
place  off  the  road,  and  there  Stepan  turned  the  horses 
loose  to  nibble  where  they  would,  and  lighted  a  fire  of 
the  sticks  he  had  been  gathering  as  he  walked;  and 
Baby  Stepan  lay  on  Grandmother  Earth  and  kicked 
and  squealed  in  the  ecstasy  of  living ;  and  little  Katenka 
mothered  him  with  responsible  gravity;  and  Katia  got 
ready  their  simple  meal. 

They  had  camped  so  one  evening,  in  a  sheltered  nook 
of  the  forest,  and  Stepan,  when  he  had  lighted  his  fire 
of  sticks,  had  gone  off  after  a  supply  of  dry  wood  for 
the  night,  as  the  trees  near  at  hand  were  sturdy  oaks  in 
full  growth. 

When  he  came  back  dragging  a  bundle  of  dead 
branches,  the  sight  of  the  cheerful  little  encampment 
stayed  him  in  the  edge  of  the  wood,  with  a  grateful  lump 
in  his  throat,  and  a  sudden  mist  in  his  eyes,  and  a  swell- 
ing about  the  heart  that  was,  in  very  truth,  a  thankful 
prayer,  though  it  had  no  words. 

The  horses,  in  their  hobbles,  were  rooting  greedily 
among  the  withered  grasses  for  the  tender  shoots  be- 
low. Baby  Stepan  lay  on  a  skin  rug,  kicking  his  sturdy 
legs  in  joyous  freedom,  and  goo-gooing  at  the  dancing 
flames  and  at  little  Katenka,  who  sat  on  the  ground 
beside  him  and  sprinkled  the  kicking  legs  with  her 
day's  harvest  of  flowers,  and  babbled  to  her  mother,  who 
was  busy  over  the  big  black  pot. 

As  happy  a  sight  as  a  man  might  see,  and,  for  one  who 


THE  LONG  ROAD  185 

had  feared  his  life's  happiness  passed  for  ever,  a  sight, 
indeed,  to  bring  a  choking  lump  into  the  throat  and  a 
mist  to  the  eyes  and  a  swelling  inside  the  chest. 

The  dark  wood  behind  him  was  like  the  black  time 
of  waiting,  when  his  life  seemed  broken  in  pieces,  and 
he  doubted  if  he  would  ever  see  happiness  again.  But 
he  had  come  out  of  the  darkness,  and  here  he  stood  look- 
ing out  into  the  light,  and  the  future  seemed  as  bright 
as  the  dancing  flames  and  the  happiness  they  shone  upon. 

He  stood  so  long,  silent  and  motionless,  watching 
through  the  leaves,  and  half  afraid  to  move  lest  it  should 
all  vanish  and  leave  him  heart  empty  and  starving, 
that  another  tiny  observer  lost  its  fear  of  him,  and  came 
tripping  noiselessly  along  a  branch  almost  under  his 
hand,  and  lay  staring  with  tense  little  brown  body 
and  astonished  little  beads  of  eyes  at  the  fire  and  all  the 
very  unusual  goings-on  about  it. 

And  Stepan,  thinking  always  of  what  would  give 
pleasure  to  his  little  Katenka,  dropped  his  hand  on  the 
little  brown  body,  which  wriggled  and  bit  and  squeaked, 
and  went  forward  to  the  fire  with  it  in  one  hand  and 
dragging  his  dry  branches  with  the  other. 

"See,  then,  dushenka,"  he  said  to  little  Katenka. 
"Here's  for  you  to  play  with  — a  little  brown  brother 
of  the  woods." 

"Is  it  alive,  little  father?"  asked  Katenka,  with 
wide  round  eyes  of  wonder,  as  the  little  brown  bundle 
lay  quite  still  for  a  moment. 


i86  THE   LONG  ROAD 

"Oh,  yes,  it's  alive,"  and  he  held  it  by  the  bushy  tail 
while  it  tried  frantically  to  bite  him  into  letting  it  go. 

"Its  little  nose  is  frightened  and  its  eyes.  Will  it 
bite,  little  father?" 

"Oh,  yes,  it  bftes.  See,  it  has  made  my  finger 
bleed." 

"But  you  will  not  kill  it,  little  father,  although  it  has 
made  you  bleed." 

"Kill  it,  my  little  Katenka?  No,  I  will  not  kill  it. 
It's  teeth  are  sharp,  but  it  only  bites  for  freedom.  No, 
I  will  not  kill  it." 

"  Pretty,  pretty !"  said  Katenka,  proffering  friendship 
with  a  doubtful  finger,  but  withdrawing  it  hastily  before 
the  menacing  little  teeth.  " Can  I  keep  it,  little  father? 
How  can  I  keep  it?" 

"It  is  for  you,  dushenka.    I  will  make  it  a  cage." 

"Nay,  but  my  Katenka,"  said  Katia,  looking  piti- 
fully on  the  struggling  little  captive,  "maybe  it  has  a 
little  Katenka  and  a  Baby  Stepan,  and  a  longing  Katia 
up  there  in  the  branches,  and  they  will  die  if  it  does  not 
go  back  to  them." 

And  little  Katenka  looked  up  at  the  face  above  her, 
with  quivering  lip  and  a  great  tenderness  in  the  dark 
blue  eyes,  and  said  quickly :  "  Let  it  go,  little  father,  let 
it  go !  We  will  not  be  like  the  evil  Paschkin  and  keep 
it  from  its  little  Katenka  and  its  Baby  Stepan,  or  their 
little  mother's  eyes  will  be  red  with  weeping.  Let  it 
go,  little  father  1" 


THE  LONG  ROAD  187 

And  Stepan  set  it  down  on  the  ground,  and  it  lay  for  a 
second  and  then  vanished  like  a  shadow.  And  little 
Katenka  clapped  her  hands  gleefully. 

"It  has  gone  back  to  its  little  Katenka  and  its  Baby 
Stepan  and  their  little  mother,"  she  cried.  "And  the 
little  mother's  eyes  will  no  longer  be  red  with  weeping." 

And  many  times  thereafter  he  caught  for  her  tiny 
wood-doves  with  eyes  like  bright  beads,  swelling,  flut- 
tering little  bundles  of  gleaming  feathers,  and  timid, 
startled-eyed  furry  things,  all  with  quivering  noses, 
and  some  with  bushy  tails,  and  some  with  nothing  but 
little  white  patches  where  tails  ought  properly  to  have 
been. 

And  little  Katenka  was  always  full  of  wonder  and 
delight  in  them. 

But  Katia  always  said:  "Let  them  go,  Stepan!  It 
pains  my  heart  to  see  them,  for  I  know  what  it  is  to 
be  caged." 

And  then  little  Katenka  would  say,  "  Yes,  let  them  go, 
little  father,  let  them  go,  for  there  is  a  little  Katenka 
and  a  Baby  Stepan  and  a  little  mother  waiting  for  them 
up  there  in  the  branches." 

And  Stepan  would  laugh  and  let  them  go,  and  would 
say,  "Yes,  I  will  let  them  go,  for  I  have  the  prettiest 
birds  of  all,  and  them  I  will  never  let  go." 

To  please  the  little  one  without  troubling  their  tender 
hearts,  he  took  to  fashioning  rude  toys  for  her  out  of  fit 
pieces  of  wood  which  he  cut  out  of  the  branches  as  they 


i88  THE   LONG   ROAD 

passed  along.  And,  ever  eager  for  the  merry  laugh  and 
sparkling  eyes  which  greeted  any  unusual  effort,  he 
grew  in  time  quite  skilful  at  the  business. 

And  Katia,  sitting  in  the  doorway,  with  Baby  Stepan 
in  her  arms,  would  smile  to  herself  at  the  concentra- 
tion of  his  knitted  face  as  he  cut  and  carved  as  he  walked 
along,  while  little  Katenka  at  her  knee  would  keep 
crying  eagerly:  "Is  it  finished,  little  father?  Is  it 
finished?  Oh,  what  is  it  this  time?  Is  it  a  man,  or  is 
it  a  little  beast,  or  is  it  the  evil  Paschkin?" 

And  it  was  wonderful  the  things  he  made  for  her  out 
of  fir  cones  and  acorns  and  bits  of  crooked  wood,  and 
she  treasured  them  and  played  with  them  by  the  hour, 
and  when  they  were  broken,  she  passed  them  on  to 
Baby  Stepan,  who  knew  no  better  and  found  them  past 
his  understanding. 

And  at  times  her  father  gave  her  joggling  rides  on 
the  shafter's  back,  in  delightful  proximity  to  the  swing- 
ing bells,  and  never  did  the  bells  sing  so  sweetly  as 
when  little  Katenka  sat  in  joyful  trepidation  beside 
them,  with  hands  clapping  and  eyes  sparkling,  and  fair 
curls  blowing  in  the  wind. 

After  that  long  heart-starving  and  agony  of  doubt, 
now  that  the  joy  of  his  dear  ones  had  been  given  to  him 
again,  it  seemed  as  though  he  could  not  do  enough  for 
them.  There  was  room  for  but  one  thought  in  him  at 
that  time,  and  that  was  how  to  fill  their  lives  with  happi- 
ness to  the  very  brim.  And  for  that  no  trouble  was  too 


THE   LONG  ROAD  189 

great.  Trouble  !  —  for  Katia  and  little  Katenka  and 
Baby  Stepan  !  Trouble  !  Everything  he  did  for  them 
was  highest  delight  and  joy  unspeakable. 

Now  and  again  they  shared  their  evening  meal  with 
some  solitary  prowler,  whose  longing  eyes  were  all- 
sufficient  passport  to  the  charmed  circle;  and  such, 
knowing  nothing  of  what  had  gone  before,  went  on  their 
way  wondering  why  to  some  men  came  so  much  of 
happiness  and  to  some  so  much  of  trouble. 

And  more  than  once  they  fell  in  with  bands  of  wan- 
derers from  over  the  border,  strange  beings  with 
round,  flat  faces  and  uncouth  garments  and  incompre- 
hensible speech,  but  not  ill-disposed,  and  all  alike 
compact  of  curiosity  and  diffidence. 

And  never  once  did  they  suffer  molestation  either  at 
the  hands  of  their  own  or  the  stranger  people.  For  the 
latter  knew  that  behind  the  white  people  of  the  northern 
land  were  bands  of  ruthless  soldiers  who  could  wipe 
the  steppes  bare. 

And  for  the  others,  if  temptation  ever  assailed  them  at 
sight  of  happiness  so  much  greater  than  ever  could  be 
theirs,  Stepan's  stalwart  figure  and  determined  face, 
and  the  sharp  axe  in  his  belt,  and  the  long  gun  which 
lay  to  his  hand  in  the  door  of  his  house  were  all- 
sufficient  deterrents.  Besides,  except  to  casual  wan- 
derers, whose  tastes  or  whose  fears  inclined  them  to 
solitude  rather  than  to  the  society  of  their  fellows,  his 
story  had  become  known,  and  few  but  felt  for  him, 


190  THE   LONG  ROAD 

since  his  burden  might  be  theirs  any  day,  and  not  one 
would  have  added  to  it. 

That  his  cross  had  become  a  crown,  and  his  burden 
had  turned  his  life  into  a  joyous  pilgrimage,  few  under- 
stood, and  the  rest  would  hardly  have  believed. 


CHAPTER  XLII 

THAT  was  a  summer  of  high  delight  to  the  occupants 
of  the  house  on  wheels,  and  all  things  prospered  with 
them. 

They  met  old  Peter  Krop  whenever  their  orbits 
permitted,  even  at  the  sacrifice  of  business  and  a  few 
days'  extra  travelling  to  some  appointed  place.  And, 
whenever  they  did  meet,  the  welcome  they  gave  him 
warmed  the  old  man's  heart  and  sent  him  on  his  way 
lonelier  than  before,  yet  rejoicing  in  spite  of  his  loneli- 
ness. 

Stepan  and  he  discussed  their  business,  past  and 
future,  and  exchanged  profitable  ideas  as  to  routes  and 
goods.  Katia  and  the  children  knocked  thirty  years  of! 
his  age,  and  carried  him  back  to  the  times  that  had  been 
and  could  never  be  again.  And,  when  they  had  parted 
once  more,  though  he  felt  his  loneliness  the  greater, 
yet  he  rejoiced  in  their  great  happiness  and  in  the  hand 
he  had  had  in  bringing  it  all  about. 

And  everywhere,  along  the  line  of  their  journeying, 
they  carried  with  them  such  an  atmosphere  of  cheerful 
contentment  with  a  hard  lot,  and  even  of  happiness, 
that  the  stolid  country  folk,  though  they  could  not 

understand  if,  were  always  glad  to  see  them. 

191 


192  THE   LONG  ROAD 

They  came  running  out  of  their  houses  to  meet  the 
house  on  wheels  whenever  they  heard  its  bells,  and  the 
full,  round  voice  of  the  deep -toned  crimson  and  the 
merry  peal  of  the  silvery  tinklers  were  known  and  wel- 
comed over  all  the  lonely  plains  of  Yeniseisk.  "Nu, 
then,  but  aren't  you  crowded  in  there?"  the  frowsy 
housewives  of  the  steppe  would  say  to  Katia,  as  they 
gazed  in  wonder  at  her  bright  face. 

"Come  and  see,"  she  would  laugh,  and  they  would 
climb  up  and  peep  in,  and  she  would  show  them  all 
Stepan's  clever  devices  for  their  comfort,  and  they  would 
gape  and  admire  and  never  cease  to  talk  of  it. 

"  Da,  now  !  If  our  men  were  like  that !"  they  would 
say,  and  they  would  envy  her  her  clever  man,  not 
knowing  all  the  heartbreak  and  bitterness  which  had 
gone  to  the  making  of  the  house  on  wheels  and  the 
happiness  it  held. 

They  were  fully  and  absolutely  happy,  as  they  had 
never  hoped  to  be  again ;  happier,  indeed,  than  they 
had  been  in  Irkutsk,  or  ever  could  have  been  under 
the  perpetual  shadow  of  Paschkin.  And  when  they 
spoke  of  the  black  days,  it  was  with  regret  for  those 
who  had  still  to  live  in  that  great  darkness,  and 
with  mighty  thankfulness  at  their  own  strange  deliv- 
erance. 

At  first  Stepan  had  watched  Katia  anxiously  for  any 
sign  of  discontent  with  their  restless  life.  But  his  heart 
was  soon  at  rest. 


THE   LONG  ROAD  193 

"Art  certain  thou  art  content,  little  one?"  he  would 
ask  her,  time  and  again. 

"What  does  my  face  tell  thee?"  she  would  laugh. 
"I  would  sooner  tramp  the  bad  roads  of  Yeniseisk  on 
foot,  with  thee  and  the  little  ones,  than  live  in  the 
biggest  house  in  Irkutsk  while  Paschkin  rules  there. 
And  this  nest  thou  hast  made  for  us  is  like  heaven." 

"Ay,  they  thought  it  was  a  travelling  church  I  built," 
he  told  her. 

"And  so  it  was,"  said  she,  with  a  touch  of  prescience. 
"And  we  are  thy  holy  images." 

"It  is  true,"  he  said  solemnly.  "When  I  see  thee 
sitting  up  there,  with  the  little  one  on  thy  knee,  I  think 
of  the  Holy  Mother  and  The  Child,  and  I  think  she 
must  have  been  like  thee,"  and  it  harmed  neither  of 
them  so  to  think. 


CHAPTER  XLIII 

THEIR  summer  waxed  and  waned,  and  they  travelled 
through  a  crisper  air.  The  hilltops  began  to  be  pow- 
dered with  snow.  The  poplars  turned  crimson,  and  the 
white-stemmed  birches  flamed  like  burning  bushes 
among  the  dark  evergreens.  The  grasses  had  all  been 
burnt  down  by  the  sun  into  a  carpet  of  russet  gold, 
except  in  the  swampy  bottoms  where  there  were  still 
green  patches,  and  even  flowers  might  still  be  had  for 
the  seeking.  The  skies  became  gray  and  heavy,  and 
Stepan  turned  his  horses'  heads  toward  the  plains  and 
began  to  think  of  runners  instead  of  wheels. 

He  had  wanted  Katia  and  the  children  to  stop  in 
some  small  town  or  village  for  the  winter,  but  Katia 
would  not  hear  of  it. 

"We  will  part  no  more,  Stepan,"  she  said.  "The 
last  time  nearly  killed  me." 

"It  is  cold  on  the  road  when  the  snow  lies  deep, 
Katia;  how  will  you  and  the  little  ones  stand  it?" 

"We  can  stand  anything  so  long  as  we  are  together. 
We  can  make  the  house  as  comfortable  as  any  village 
house." 

"We  may  be  snowed  up  at  times." 

"It  is  delightful  to  be  snowed  up  when  all  you  love 

is  snowed  up  with  you." 

194 


THE  LONG  ROAD  195 

Stepan  was  doubtful,  but  decided  that  if  they  found 
it  too  much  for  them,  it  would  always  be  possible  to 
make  a  change. 

Old  Peter  Krop,  too,  when  he  heard  about  it,  strongly 
urged  Katia  to  consent  to  being  left  behind.  He  had 
travelled  those  roads  for  thirty  years;  but  always,  in 
the  winter  —  after  the  first  year  or  two  —  he  knocked 
off  for  a  time,  because  he  considered  the  risk  and  the 
hardship  too  great. 

But  he  could  not  move  Katia,  and  so  he  tried  to  induce 
Stepan  to  go  west  into  Omsk  and  Tomsk,  and  there 
keep  down  to  the  south.  But  Stepan  did  not  think 
well  of  the  idea.  Governor  Tatukof  was  complaisant 
and  had  never  interfered  with  him.  In  Omsk  and 
Tomsk  he  did  not  know  in  whose  hands  he  might  be. 
He  would  stop  where  he  knew  he  was  safe,  and  where 
no  one  was  likely  to  come  between  him  and  Katia. 

And  so  they  went  stoutly  into  the  winter,  and  Katia, 
at  all  events,  had  no  doubt  but  that  the  warmth  of  love 
inside  the  little  house  would  be  sufficient  to  keep  out  all 
the  cold  the  season  could  bring  against  them. 

Stepan  bought  more  skins  for  the  floor  and  more 
rugs  for  the  walls,  and  from  a  trader,  whose  business 
took  him  far  north  down  the  Yenisei,  he  bought  a  large 
lamp  such  as  the  natives  there  use  for  both  lighting 
and  heating  and  cooking. 

They  made  but  slow  time  indeed,  when  the  snow 
came  and  the  wheels  gave  place  to  the  runners.  But 


196  THE  LONG  ROAD 

time  was  of  little  consequence  to  them;  so  long  as 
they  fulfilled  the  requirements  of  Paschkin's  decree 
and  kept  moving  on,  there  was  none  to  find  fault  with 
them. 

At  times  they  stopped  in  wayside  village  or  alongside 
some  lonely  peasant  hut  for  days  at  a  time,  but  Katia 
always  preferred  her  own  house  to  any  other. 

Far  from  complaining,  she  would  never  even  admit 
any  want  of  room  or  of  anything  else.  On  the  contrary, 
she  went  about  her  work  with  happy  face  and  cheerful 
songs,  and  planned  and  contrived  so  admirably  that 
everybody  had  room  enough,  and  everybody  was  com- 
fortable and  happy. 

And  to  little  Katenka  the  world  was  as  joyous,  all 
glistening  in  the  snow,  as  it  had  been  in  the  days  of 
sunshine  and  flowers. 

She  would  sit  on  the  seat  in  front,  muffled  in  a  sheep- 
skin so  that  nothing  of  her  could  be  seen  but  her  rosy 
face  in  its  little  cloth  capote,  and  a  fair  curl  streaming 
out  here  and  there  like  a  winter  sunbeam.  And  they 
could  not  keep  her  inside. 

She  would  sit  there  by  the  hour,  singing  merrily  to  the 
falling  flakes,  and  nodding  gay  welcomes  to  them  with 
her  bright  little  head. 

And  when  they  fell  on  her  face  so  thickly  that  she 
could  not  see,  she  would  root  out  a  little  mittened  hand 
and  brush  them  gently  away,  as  though  the  soft  white 
flakes  had  feelings  which  she  was  loath  to  wound ;  but 


THE  LONG  ROAD  197 

really,  if  they  didn't  much  mind,  she  wanted  to  see  out  of 
her  own  eyes,  you  know. 

And  to  Stepan,  tramping  sturdily  by  his  horses' 
heads,  and  clearing  their  faces  of  the  snow  when  it 
troubled  them,  she  was  ever  a  rare  delight.  No  matter 
how  cold  the  wind,  how  thick  the  snow,  the  sight  of 
little  Katenka,  sitting  up  there  singing  to  the  falling 
flakes  as  they  fluttered  by  her  rosy  face,  set  a  cheerful 
fire  in  his  heart  and  brightened  all  the  way.  Just  so, 
long  ago,  to  a  little  mud -boy  on  the  long  road,  the 
thought  of  another  little  Katenka 's  rosy  face  had  been 
warmth  and  food  and  new  life,  and'  a  wondrous  easing 
of  an  infinitely  gloomier  way. 

Katenka  wondered  sometimes  why  he  would  suddenly 
look  up  at  her  and  laugh  joyfully. 

"Why  do  you  laugh  at  me,  little  father,  why  do  you 
laugh?"  she  would  pipe  down  through  the  falling  flakes. 

"Because  your  face  is  brighter  than  the  sun  to  me, 
little  Katenka,  and  it  always  sets  me  thinking  of  that 
hot  cake  you  gave  me  when  I  was  a  little  mud -boy, 
sixteen,  seventeen  —  oh,  ever  so  many  years  ago,  — 
before  you  were  born." 

"  Da !  You  are  a  funny  little  father !  How  could 
I  —  before  I  was  born?" 

"  Nu,  then !  Ask  your  mother  to  tell  you  the  story 
of  the  dirty  mud -boy  and  little  Katenka's  hot  cake." 

And  the  story  was  told  many,  many  times,  and  little 
Katenka  never  tired  of  hearing  it.  And  in  time  she 


198  THE   LONG  ROAD 

got  to  know  it  so  well  that,  if  her  mother  inadvertently 
dropped  one  word,  Katenka  would  insist  upon  its  im- 
mediate replacement  before  the  story  could  be  allowed 
to  continue. 

And  sometimes,  as  a  crowning  effect,  the  little  mother 
would  bake  them  hot  cakes,  just  the  same  as  the  one 
she  had  given  to  the  little  mud-boy,  and  little  Katenka 
would  look  anxiously  about  to  see  if  there  was  any 
starving  little  mud -boy  upon  whom  she  might  bestow 
hers,  but  she  never  found  one.  But  the  sight  of  her 
father's  face,  as  he  ate  his  cake,  crumb  by  crumb,  al- 
ways filled  her  with  merry  laughter  and  her  mother 
with  great  delight,  for  he  always  asserted  that  even  the 
original  cake  given  to  the  mud-boy  was  not  equal  to 
these  cakes.  And  in  that,  I  suppose,  he  was  right. 

At  times  they  crept  through  the  winding  hill  passes, 
where  the  firs  and  pines  stood  like  endless  phalanxes 
of  white-coated  soldiers,  silently  saluting  their  merry 
chimes.  And  then  down  into  the  long  white  solitudes 
of  the  plains,  which  sparkled  under  the  sun  as  though 
strewn  with  dust  of  diamonds.  And  sometimes  they 
passed  long  lines  of  laden  sledges,  and  sometimes  they 
went  for  days  without  seeing  any  living  thing. 

But  always  when  he  could,  Stepan  drew  in  for  the 
night  to  hut  or  village,  where  the  horses  could  get  under 
cover  and  his  mind  could  be  at  ease.  And  then,  in- 
deed, the  little  house  glowed  like  the  cosy  nest  of  some 
strange  birds,  and  the  peasants  came  out  into  the  snow 


THE  LONG  ROAD  199 

to  peep  in  at  the  furs  and  rugs  and  the  warmth  and 
neatness  of  it  all,  and  sat  and  talked  with  Stepan  and 
Katia,  as  many  as  could  get  in ;  and  crept  back  to  their 
own  cheerless  dwellings  the  better  for  what  they  had 
seen,  and  envious  in  some  cases  almost  to  the  point  of 
emulation.  But  after  a  time,  and  taught  by  lively  ex- 
perience, Katia  had  to  put  a  stop  to  so  much  hospi- 
tality; for  she  was  the  soul  of  cleanliness  herself,  and 
many  of  their  visitors  left  active  memories  of  their 
visits  behind  them. 

When  no  house  could  be  reached,  Stepan  sought 
the  most  sheltered  spot  he  could  find  and  camped  out. 
His  stabling  arrangements  then  were  simple  enough. 
They  took  time  to  carry  out,  but  the  horses  found  them 
satisfactory  and  made  no  complaint. 

He  drew  over  the  roof  of  the  house  a  great  piece  of 
canvas  and  fastened  the  ends  to  the  ground  or  to  the 
snow,  so  making  a  small  lean-to  tent  on  each  side. 
The  ends  were  closed  with  shaped  pieces  of  canvas, 
and  when  the  snow  was  shovelled  out,  and  piled  in  a 
wall  round  the  outside,  and  the  ground  was  covered 
with  fir  branches,  the  stable  was  complete,  and  the 
horses  would  sleep  more  soundly  than  their  master. 
For  he  would  lie  awake  most  of  the  night  dreading  each 
moment  to  hear  the  distant  howling  of  wolves,  and  if 
by  chance  he  fell  asleep,  he  woke  with  a  start,  sure  that 
he  heard  them  coming. 

But  they  suffered  little  actual  trouble  from  wolves, 


200  THE   LONG  ROAD 

except  in  Stepan's  dreams,  until  the  great  snowstorm 
which  caught  them  on  the  road  from  Chernsk  to  Drem 
—  the  greatest  storm  they  had  had  in  Yeniseisk  for  very 
many  years. 


CHAPTER  XLIV 

IT  was  a  clear  sky  and  no  signs  of  any  unusual  visita- 
tion when  they  started  out  from  Chernsk,  and  Drem 
was  four  days  away  across  a  frozen,  swampy  steppe  on 
the  other  side  of  the  hills.  They  had  stayed  their  full 
ten  days  at  Chernsk,  waiting  for  snow  to  level  the  ways, 
and,  for  the  first  time  since  Paschkin  started  them  on 
the  road,  the  police  had  had  to  intimate  to  Stepan  that 
his  time  was  up  and  he  must  go. 

He  had  wondered  sometimes  if  they  would  actually 
enforce  Paschkin 's  arbitrary  decree  in  Yeniseisk.  Ta- 
tukof  winked  at  Katia's  presence  with  him.  Stepan 
thought  it  possible  he  might  equally  wink  at  the  other 
matter  also,  and  had  more  than  once  so  discussed  the 
matter  at  his  meetings  with  Peter  Krop. 

But  Peter  advised  him  to  the  contrary.  He  said  he 
had  done  his  utmost  to  get  the  Governor's  other  eye 
to  close,  but  Tatukof  was  too  wary  and  would  take  no 
risks.  As  regards  Katia  he  had  received  no  communica- 
tion from  the  All-Powerful-One,  who  was  occupied  with 
other  matters  at  the  time  of  her  escape.  If  at  any  time 
instructions  came  concerning  her,  he  would  have  to 
enforce  them.  He  had,  of  course,  long  since  spent  his 
thousand  roubles  when  he  made  this  acknowledgment. 

201 


202  THE  LONG  ROAD 

But  as  regarded  the  indorsement  of  Stepan  Iline's 
papers,  it  was  a  matter  beyond  him.  Every  police 
officer  with  whom  those  papers  were  lodged  at  each 
village  was  conversant  with  them,  and  was  bound  to  act 
on  them  or  take  the  consequences,  and  he,  Tatukof, 
was  not  quite  such  a  fool  as  to  meddle  with  the  written 
decrees  of  Paschkin.  So  that  it  was  really  the  Ubiq- 
uitous and  All-Powerful-One  who  drove  them  into 
the  great  snowstorm,  and  brought  them  into  mighty 
peril,  and  worse. 

Captain  of  Cossacks  Danof,  head  of  police  at 
Chernsk,  was  an  autocratic  respecter  of  laws  and  ordi- 
nances, a  person  devoid  of  sentiment  or  imagination,  a 
hard  man  of  few  but  fixed  ideas,  chief  of  which  was 
that  superior  orders  must  be  carried  out  to  the  very 
last  letter,  no  matter  what  happened.  This  made  him 
a  good  chief  of  police  but  an  extremely  unpleasant 
person  to  deal  with.  He  was  a  man  of  ambitions,  also, 
and  not  open  even  to  the  reasoning  of  the  rouble.  He 
had  seen  the  danger  of  that,  and  had  made  up  his  mind 
that  until  he  occupied  a  position  which  would  command 
commensurate  remuneration,  honesty  was  his  best 
policy.  He  would  have  nothing  to  do  with  bribes  of 
any  kind  until  they  should  be  on  such  a  scale  that  con- 
sequences would  be  of  comparatively  small  importance. 

He  was  the  first  who  had  had  to  enforce  against 
Stepan  the  indorsement  on  his  papers.  On  the  tenth 
day  of  their  stay  in  Chernsk,  a  message  arrived  from  him 


THE   LONG  ROAD  203 

to  the  effect  that  the  term  of  their  residence  expired  that 
night,  and  Stepan  forthwith  harnessed  his  horses  and 
went. 

They  had  crossed  the  frozen  swamp  and  were  crawling 
up  the  pass,  when  the  snow  began  falling  in  slow,  heavy 
flakes  out  of  a  low,  gray  sky.  The  sky  darkened  over 
the  hills,  and  presently  the  wind  came  bellowing  through 
the  funnel  of  the  pass,  blinding  the  horses,  plastering 
the  house  inches  deep  with  snow,  and  piling  up  drifts 
at  every  turning,  which  soon  made  progress  impossible. 

Stepan  remembered  a  corner  down  below  which  had 
been  somewhat  sheltered.  He  got  the  horses  round,  to 
their  great  satisfaction,  and  they  struggled  back  to  the 
corner.  Then  he  had  a  stiff  wrestle  with  the  intractable 
canvas,  which,  under  the  influence  of  the  gale,  became 
possessed  of  a  devil  such  as  had  never  entered  into  it 
before.  After  a  couple  of  hours'  hard  work,  however, 
he  got  the  horses  under  shelter  and  was  satisfied. 
Then  he  crept  to  cover  himself,  and  lay  all  night  listen- 
ing to  the  howling  of  the  wind  through  the  pass,  till  at 
last  it  dulled  on  his  ears  and  he  slept. 

Everything  was  very  quiet  when  he  woke  in  the  morn- 
ing, and  he  said  to  himself  that  the  storm  was  over  and 
they  would  go  on.  But  when  he  tried  to  open  the 
front  door  he  met  resistance,  and  forcing  it  an  inch  or  two 
found  the  snow  piled  heavily  against  it. 

He  scraped  away  with  his  hands  through  the  narrow 
opening  till  he  could  creep  out,  burrowed  on  till  his 


204  THE   LONG  ROAD 

head  broke  through  the  upper  crust,  and  there  he 
found  the  storm  still  raging,  and  the  snow  piling  higher 
and  higher  round  his  corner  even  as  he  watched. 

He  looked  anxiously  over  his  canvas  stables  and  found 
them  so  far  intact.  The  outer  one  was  sagged  down 
with  a  covering  of  snow  a  foot  or  more  deep.  The 
inner  one,  sheltered  by  the  house  and  the  side  of  the 
pass,  was  less  weighted.  So  far  the  stout  canvas  had 
stood  the  strain,  but  he  set  to  work  at  once  to  lighten 
it  by  pushing  down  the  snow  with  a  pole.  He  bur- 
rowed down  to  the  inside  stable  and  crept  under  the 
house  to  the  other,  and  found  both  horses  all  right  and 
fairly  warm.  He  gave  them  hay  from  the  provision 
under  the  house  and  climbed  up  again. 

"We  are  snowed  in,  Katia,"  he  said  to  his  wife, 
"and  the  storm  still  rages." 

"We  might  be  worse  off,  Stepan.  There  is  plenty 
of  food  and  plenty  of  oil,  and  before  long  the  storm 
will  cease,  and  we  can  go  on." 

"Pretty,  pretty!"  said  little  Katenka,  clapping  her 
hands  at  sight  of  the  snow-wall  outside  the  door,  glit- 
tering in  the  lamplight. 

But  the  storm  raged  all  that  day,  and  the  next,  and 
for  many  days  after  that.  Flakes  as  big  as  one's  hand 
went  whirling  down  the  pass,  banking  in  great  ridges 
at  the  turnings,  and  piling  higher  and  higher  round  the 
little  camp  in  the  corner.  And  Stepan  was  kept  busy, 
raking  it  off  the  roofs  of  the  house  and  the  stables  when 


THE   LONG   ROAD  205 

it  packed  too  heavily,  lest  they  should  be  overwhelmed, 
and  keeping  open  his  funnel  lest  they  should  be  smoth- 
ered. 

He  carried  the  big  cooking  lamp  down  into  the 
stable  for  a  time  each  day,  and  so  tightly  were  they 
covered  in  that  very  little  of  the  heat  escaped,  and  they 
had  no  great  cold  to  complain  of. 

"But,"  he  said  to  himself,  as  he  looked  out  over  the 
piling  drifts,  "it  will  take  days  and  days  to  get  clear, 
even  when  the  snow  ceases,"  and  he  began  to  worry 
about  the  provisioning  for  themselves  and  the  horses. 
The  latter  he  put  on  short  rations  at  once  as  a  matter 
of  precaution,  but  as  yet  said  nothing  to  Katia. 

For  himself  he  ate  just  as  little  as  possible  without 
exciting  her  observation,  and,  as  the  days  went  on, 
the  habit  grew  upon  him  of  getting  up  while  eating, 
and  going  out  with  the  food  in  his  hand,  to  clear  the 
snow  off  the  stable  roof,  which  he  could  have  done  just 
as  well  at  any  other  time. 

As  the  days  passed,  and  the  snow  still  fell,  Katia's 
gentle  face  began  to  wear  an  anxious  look  also,  when 
she  was  alone.  For  the  food  was  nearly  done,  and 
what  was  to  happen  when  they  had  eaten  the  last 
mouthful  she  dared  not  think.  But  she  always  plucked 
up  heart,  and  said  to  herself  that  there  could  not  be 
much  more  snow  left  to  come  down,  and  that  soon  it 
would  be  all  right,  and  they  would  go  on  again. 

She  was  very  much  astonished,  too,  at  the  way  the 


206  THE   LONG   ROAD 

food  lasted.  Positively  it  seemed  to  her  sometimes  that 
there  was  more  there  in  the  morning  than  there  had  been 
at  night.  She  herself  ate  very  sparingly,  and  would 
have  denied  herself  still  more  but  that  she  had  little 
Stepan  to  feed  as  well  as  herself,  and  his  masterful 
demands  had  to  be  complied  with,  no  matter  who  went 
short.  She  could  not  altogether  keep  the  growing 
anxiety  out  of  her  face  at  last,  and  Stepan  noticed  it, 
and  that  her  cheeks  had  lost  somewhat  of  their  round- 
ness, and  he  insisted  on  her  eating  more. 

Then  she  would  say,  "If  you  will  eat,  I  will  eat." 
And  he  had  to  humour  her,  and  God  knows  —  except 
for  fears  of  the  future  —  it  was  not  hard  work  for  him 
to  eat  when  his  stomach  was  almost  clapping  its  insides 
with  hunger. 

"How  much  longer  can  it  last,  Stepan?"  she  would 
ask,  and  he  would  reply:  "God  knows,  little  one.  But 
I  really  think  the  sky  is  lighter  to-day." 

When  she  saw  that  the  oil  was  nearly  done  she  cooked 
all  the  meat  they  had,  and  made  all  their  flour  into 
cakes,  against  the  time  when  they  could  cook  no  more. 
And  Stepan,  as  he  dealt  out  single  stalks  of  hay  to  his 
famished  horses,  and  shrank  from  the  hungry  reproach 
of  their  straining  eyes,  found  himself  wondering  if  the 
time  had  not  come  for  him  to  kill  one  of  them  for 
sake  of  the  little  flesh  that  was  on  its  bones.  They 
had  long  since  eaten  up  all  their  bedding,  to  the  last 
shred  of  bark,  and  there  was  not  a  scrap  of  anything 


THE  LONG  ROAD  207 

left,  except  the  stalks  of  hay  which  he  dealt  out  so 
sparingly. 

Little  Katenka  grew  fretful  with  the  long  confine- 
ment, the  pretty  snow  had  long  since  lost  its  charm, 
and  even  little  Stepan  wailed  discontentedly  at  times 
in  spite  of  all  his  mother  could  do  for  him. 

Stepan  blamed  himself  bitterly  for  not  having  in- 
sisted on  their  stopping  for  the  winter  in  some  village, 
and  starved  himself  contritely.  And  Katia  suffered 
much,  and  did  her  very  best  to  look  as  if  she  were  not 
suffering  at  all,  but  strength  soon  saps  when  two  have 
to  live  on  a  fraction  of  what  would  support  one. 

Then  at  last  one  day,  when  he  burst  through  the  new 
crust  of  snow  that  had  covered  his  breathing  hole  in 
the  night,  he  found  the  sun  shining  brightly  and  the 
storm  over.  The  pass  was  blocked  at  every  turning, 
and  it  would  be  many  days  before  they  could  get  out. 
But  he  hastily  cleft  a  larger  way  through  the  snow, 
and  brought  Katia  and  Katenka  and  Baby  Stepan  out 
to  breathe  the  fresh  air  and  stretch  themselves,  to  their 
great  content. 

Katenka  began  at  once  to  complain  of  hunger,  and 
Stepan,  with  sudden  resolution,  but  feeling  how  reduced 
his  strength  was,  climbed  the  nearest  drift  to  see  if  he 
could  spy  any  trees.  He  saw  some  firs  sticking  up 
through  the  snow,  and  plunged  away  toward  them,  and 
began  wildly  tearing  branches  down  and  dragging  them 
toward  the  house. 


208  THE   LONG  ROAD 

He  set  Katia  and  Katenka  to  strip  off  the  leaves,  and 
then  quickly,  for  he  hated  the  job,  he  slipped  down  into 
the  stable,  crept  under  the  house,  and  with  shaking 
hand  and  eyes  that  hardly  saw,  drew  his  knife  across 
the  throat  of  the  horse  that  lay  there. 

The  poor  beast  shivered  and  half  raised  its  head  to 
look  up  at  him,  kicked  feebly  once  or  twice  with  its 
hind  legs,  and  lay  still.  And  the  other  horse,  with  its 
muzzle  down  to  the  opening  below  the  house,  snuffled 
affrightedly  and  asked  what  was  the  matter.  When 
Stepan  came  out  from  under  the  house  with  red  meat  in 
his  hand,  it  turned  and  looked  reproachfully  after  him. 

Katia  went  white  when  she  saw  the  meat,  but  little 
Katenka  clapped  her  hands  with  joy  and  danced  briefly 
in  the  snow.  Meat  had  come,  that  was  enough.  She 
never  asked  where  it  came  from. 

Stepan  trod  down  a  patch  of  snow  into  a  hard  cake, 
piled  his  wood,  and  lit  a  fire,  and  set  the  meat  to  grill, 
and  then  carefully  carried  down  to  the  live  horse  the 
twigs  and  leaves  from  the  fir  branches. 

The  meat  was  not  to  their  taste,  not  even  to  little 
Katenka's,  and  Katia  forced  herself  to  swallow  it  only 
for  the  boy's  sake.  It  was  coarse  and  stringy,  and  of 
a  strange  flavour,  still  there  was  some  nourishment  in 
it,  and  when  Katia  stewed  some  and  mixed  her  dried 
herbs  with  it,  they  found  it  better. 

They  had  been  eighteen  days  under  the  snow,  and 


THE  LONG  ROAD  209 

it  was  ten  days  more  before  they  could  make  passage 
through  the  drifts. 

Said  Stepan  with  a  brief  smile,  "There  are  powers 
greater  even  than  Paschkin's." 


CHAPTER   XLV 

IT  was  then,  almost  at  the  end  of  their  long  imprison- 
ment, when  they  had  barely  escaped  death  by  starva- 
tion, that  they  came  still  nearer  to  it  in  still  more  grisly 
fashion. 

Stepan  had  decided  that  they  might  venture  down 
the  pass  on  the  morrow.  They  were  busily  packing 
such  necessaries  as  they  required  into  small  bundles, 
for  the  house  would  have  to  wait  where  it  was  for  the 
present.  The  snow  was  piled  high  about  it,  and  to 
enter  it  they  had  to  pass  through  a  narrow  passage 
twenty  feet  long  which  Stepan  had  cut  through  the 
drift.  He  had  been  working  all  day  at  another  passage 
by  which  the  horse  would  come  up  to  daylight  again 
in  the  morning.  For  sake  of  the  warmth,  however, 
he  had  not  yet  broken  it  completely  through,  but  a 
short  half-hour's  work  would  finish  it. 

Suddenly  he  raised  his  head  and  sat  listening  intently, 
with  a  quick  chill  at  the  heart.  Katia  was  busy  with 
little  Stepan  and  did  not  notice.  The  horse  in  the 
stable  alongside  gave  a  terrified  snort.  He  heard  it, 
too. 

It  was  the  sound  Stepan  had  heard  so  often  in  his 
dreams,  the  distant  howling  of  wolves.  He  reached 


210 


THE  LONG  ROAD  211 

for  the  long  knife  with  which  he  had  cut  the  horse's 
throat,  and  lashed  it  firmly  to  the  pole  he  used  for 
beating  the  snow  off  the  stable  roof.  He  felt  for  his 
axe.  His  gun  was  in  the  corner.  Then  he  sat  and 
listened. 

He  heard  it  again,  and  nearer.  It  was  not  the  long, 
dolorous  howl  of  the  hungry  prowler,  but  the  short, 
eager  yelp  of  the  pack  hot  on  the  scent. 

Katia  heard  it  now,  and  her  thin  white  face  went 
whiter  still,  and  involuntarily  she  clasped  little  Stepan 
tighter  to  her  breast.  The  horse  alongside  was  on  its 
feet.  They  could  hear  it  shifting  uneasily,  and  snorting 
with  fear.  Little  Katenka  heard  it,  and  began  to  cry 
with  her  hands  to  her  ears. 

For  the  first  time  in  his  life  her  father  spoke  roughly 
to  her. 

"Be  quiet,  Katenka.  If  you  cry,  the  wolves  will 
hear  you,"  and  Katenka  drew  a  skin  round  her  head 
and  lay  wriggling  in  a  corner. 

"They  cannot  get  in,  Katia,"  he  said  positively. 
"But  I  am  afraid  for  the  horse.  I  shall  stand  outside 
in  the  passage.  If  they  come  here,  and  I  have  to  shoot, 
you  must  reload  the  gun  for  me.  There  is  the  powder. 
Here  is  the  shot.  There  are  wads,"  and  he  stepped 
through  into  the  snow  passage,  carrying  gun  and  spear 
and  axe.  Katenka  gave  a  quiver  of  fear  as  the  door 
opened  and  the  blood-curdling  yelping  sounded  louder 
still  and  nearer. 


212  THE   LONG  ROAD 

There  was  a  cold  bright  moon  like  a  silver  shield, 
and  Stepan  could  see  to  the  next  turn  of  the  pass.  The 
yelping  swelled  clearer,  drew  nearer,  and  now  he  heard 
also  the  quick  thud  of  a  horse's  hoofs  going  at  a  fran- 
tic gallop.  He  must  see.  If  the  chase  kept  up,  they 
might  be  passed  unscented,  though  if  they  were,  it 
would  be  by  the  mercy  of  God,  for,  good  sooth,  the 
scent  of  them  was  strong  enough. 

He  stole  to  the  end  of  the  passage.  The  night  was 
very  still,  and  now  he  could  hear  the  sobbing  breath  of 
the  horse  as  it  gasped  its  heart  out  in  the  death  race. 
The  quick  thud  of  the  hoofs  came,  now  sharp  on  wind- 
swept rock,  now  dull  on  drifted  snow,  then  lost  as  it 
plunged  through  a  drift.  There  was  the  clank  of  swing- 
ing steel,  and  above  and  behind  it  all  the  marrow- 
freezing  gasps  and  yelps  of  the  bloody  fangs. 

Nearer,  nearer,  and  in  a  moment  they  tore  past  him, 
a  saddled  horse,  mad  terror  in  every  bristling  gray  hair 
of  him,  a  score  of  bounding  shadows  at  his  heels. 

"  Please  God  he  keep  up !"  breathed  Stepan.  Then 
—  "God  help  us,  he's  down !"  —  a  short-cut,  curdling 
scream,  a  chorus  of  triumphant  yells,  then  silence, 
broken  by  snarlings  and  snappings,  and  rendings  and 
tearings,  and  sudden  angry  yelps  as  the  starveling  crew 
fell  foul  of  one  another  in  their  greed. 

Stepan  fell  back  down  the  passage  and  cocked  his 
gun.  He  rested  his  spear  against  the  snow  wall  and 
loosened  the  axe  in  his  belt.  The  house  behind  him 


THE  LONG  ROAD  213 

was  silent.  The  horse  snuffled  and  shifted  on  its  feet, 
and  Stepan  strained  his  ears  into  the  night. 

They  were  still  busy  down  there,  rending  and  tearing, 
but  there  was  more  of  snarling  and  yelping.  They 
were  not  of  one  mind  as  to  the  division  of  the  spoil,  he 
said  to  himself.  God !  If  only  the  gray  had  kept  it 
up  for  another  mile.  It  was  the  sharp  turns  of  the  road 
that  had  done  him. 

Ah !  a  snuffling  down  the  pass,  the  soft  pad  of  feet, 
a  flitting  shadow  on  the  snow,  and  a  wolf  stood  in  the 
entrance  of  the  passage  and  gazed  at  him  with  surprise. 
Then  it  bristled  and  snarled  till  he  saw  the  long,  yellow 
fangs,  then  it  tossed  up  its  red  muzzle  and  yelped,  and 
in  a  moment  a  dozen  more  were  leaping  about  the 
opening  like  grisly  nightmares. 

They  were  very  gaunt  and  thin,  he  noticed.  They 
licked  their  red  muzzles  hopefully  as  they  leaped,  and 
never  for  a  second  ceased  their  yelping  and  snarl- 
ing. They  were  very  hungry,  —  and  here  was  more 
food.  They  made  a  rush  into  the  passage  and 
climbed  on  top  of  one  another  in  their  eagerness  to  get 
at  it. 

Stepan  fired.  The  distance  was  too  small  for  the 
heavy  shot  to  scatter  much,  but  two  went  down  and  the 
rest  howled  madly  and  came  scrambling  on.  He  put 
the  gun  behind  him  against  the  door  and  thrust  at  them 
with  his  spear,  —  at  red,  snarling  mouths,  and  gnash- 
ing teeth,  and  gleaming  eyes,  and  bristling,  bloody  fronts ; 


214  THE   LONG  ROAD 

and  the  knife  was  sharp  and  strong  and  bit  quick  and 
deep. 

They  were  very  terrifying.  The  very  sound  and  sight 
of  them  was  enough  to  make  any  man  quail,  and 
Stepan's  heart  was  going  like  a  pump.  They  were  like 
lost  fiends  out  of  hell,  ravening  to  tear  him  to  pieces. 
But  all  his  heaven  lay  behind  him  and  he  did  not  flinch. 

Half-a-dozen  bodies  blocked  the  narrow  passage,  the 
others  scrambled  on  top  of  them  and  came  tumbling 
over.  The  gun  was  suddenly  thrust  under  his  left  arm 
from  behind.  He  clinched  it  to  his  side  and  dropped 
his  hand  till  it  found  the  stock.  Then  he  thrust  his 
spear  deep  into  an  oncoming  body  and  loosed  it  and 
fired  into  the  crowd  behind.  They  gave  back  time 
enough  for  him  to  drop  the  gun  and  grip  the  spear  again, 
and  then,  growing  bolder  with  his  success,  he  drew  his 
axe  and  hacked  madly  at  every  bristling  head  which 
showed  above  the  dead  barrier. 

A  wounded  beast  at  his  feet  gnashed  its  evil  mouth 
at  him.  With  one  blow  he  cleft  its  skull  and  shouted 
aloud  at  the  feel  of  it.  The  rage  of  slaughter  took  hold 
of  him.  He  no  longer  knew  what  fear  might  feel  like, 
and  weakness  was  not  in  him.  These  clean,  sharp  blows 
of  the  axe  sent  a  new  hot  strength  through  all  his  veins. 
He  laughed  aloud  and  shore  through  snarling  muzzles 
and  bloody  fronts,  and  laughed  louder  still,  and  still 
more  loudly,  as  the  snow  walls  became  spattered  with 
red,  and  the  trampled  floor  was  all  red  mud,  and  every- 


THE  LONG  ROAD  215 

thing  was  red  wherever  he  looked,  and  the  maimed 
brutes  went  off  howling  dismally,  some  less  a  paw,  and 
some  less  a  jaw,  and  some  with  gaping  holes  in  their 
heads,  but  none  whom  the  axe  had  bit  with  any  stomach 
left  for  fighting. 

Again  the  gun  was  thrust  under  his  arm.  Katia 
had  picked  it  from  under  his  feet  and  come  out  with  it. 

"They  are  dogs,  Katia,"  he  cried,  with  a  wild  laugh, 
"dogs  to  be  whipped.  Come  on,  come  on,  you  curs !" 

But  the  curs  who  still  had  whole  skins,  because  they 
were  the  least  valiant,  or  because  they  had  had  the  fuller 
meal  down  below,  lay  panting  outside.  This  was  very 
different  business  from  pulling  down  a  frightened  horse. 
The  smell,  indeed,  was  good ;  but,  dead,  you  neither 
smell  nor  eat.  Maybe  there  are  still  some  overlooked 
scraps  of  horse  left  down  there.  And  they  began  to 
sneak  off.  Stepan  scrambled  over  the  heap  in  the  pas- 
sage and  emptied  his  gun  into  the  last  loping  brute 
before  it  could  get  round  the  corner. 

Then  he  waved  his  red  axe  at  the  placid  moon  with  a 
laugh  of  triumph,  and  staggered  back  over  the  heap  into 
the  passage,  and  went  into  the  house  and  shut  the  door. 

He  set  the  gun  in  a  corner  and  dropped  the  red  axe 
and  spear  on  the  floor,  and  sat  down  himself  so  heavily 
that  the  house  shook.  Little  Katenka  sat  up  at  the 
sound  and  cried  out,  and  little  Stepan  wailed  in  com- 
pany. 

"Be  quiet,  you  two!"  said  Stepan,  angrily.     "You 


2i6  THE  LONG  ROAD 

are  as  bad  as  the  beasts  outside.  Be  —  quiet,  I  tell 
you!"  and  he  raised  his  hand  as  though  to  strike 
Katenka,  a  thing  he  had  never  done  in  his  life. 

Katia  was  very  wise.  She  understood.  She  hushed 
little  Stepan  to  her  breast,  and  sat  down  on  the  floor 
by  Katenka,  and  soothed  her  into  silence  with  the  other 
hand. 

"I  have  killed  wolves  this  night,"  maundered  Stepan, 
very  loudly.  The  hot  blood  was  racing  in  his  head  yet. 
He  saw  things  dimly.  "  I  have  drunk  blood.  Wolves  ? 
—  Dogs !  —  Curs !  They  thought  to  eat  us  up  as  they 
ate  the  gray  horse.  But  they  met  their  master.  They 
are  dead.  I  tell  you  they  are  dead,  Katia.  They  lie 
there  in  heaps.  Come  and  see  them.  Heaps,  and  I 
killed  them,"  and  he  made  as  though  to  get  up. 

"I  saw  you,  Stepan.  I  saw  them  lie  in  heaps," 
said  Katia,  quietly. 

"They  thought  to  beat  me  —  me,  Stepan  Ivano- 
vitch  Iline.  Me  —  Stepan  Ivano — vitch — "  Then 
he  rolled  over  on  the  floor  and  slept  like  a  drunken 
man  till  the  morning. 

And  when  he  woke  he  was  no  longer  Stepan  Ivano- 
vitch  Iline,  the  slayer  of  wolves,  but  the  Stepan  they 
knew  and  loved.  But  little  Katenka  looked  timidly 
at  him  at  first,  and  was  still  somewhat  afraid  of  him, 
till  he  caught  her  up  and  kissed  her  as  he  was  in  the 
habit  of  doing,  and  tickled  little  Stepan  till  he  screamed 
with  delight. 


THE  LONG  ROAD  217 

When  he  had  eaten,  he  went  out  and  stood  for  a 
moment  looking  at  the  blood-bespattered  passage  in 
the  snow,  and  a  brief  recollection  came  over  him  of 
his  feelings  of  the  previous  night.  Then  he  quietly 
dragged  the  dead  wolves  into  the  open,  and  shaved 
down  the  red  sides  of  the  passage  on  to  the  floor,  so 
that  all  was  clean  and  white  again. 

He  counted  his  wolves  out  of  curiosity.  Many  had 
been  tentatively  gnawed,  but  evidently  found  unpalatable. 
Then  he  went  down  the  pass  to  look  at  the  gray  horse. 

Nothing  remained  of  it  but  its  bones  and  hoofs  and 
hair  and  the  steel  of  its  gear.  The  very  saddle  was 
ragged  and  worried.  The  stirrup  leathers  were  chewed 
to  strings.  He  picked  up  the  remains  of  the  saddle 
and  carried  it  up  to  the  house.  It  would  come  in  use- 
ful for  Katia. 

Then  he  set  to  work,  breaking  a  way  for  the  horse 
out  of  its  stable,  and  led  it  up,  stiff  and  staggering,  from 
its  long  confinement,  and  left  it  to  find  its  legs. 

And  after  they  had  fed,  he  tied  the  torn  saddle  on 
to  the  horse,  and  hung  their  small  bundles  from  it,  and 
they  set  off.  Little  Katenka  he  carried  on  his  back 
till  they  should  reach  more  level  ground,  for  the  horse 
was  still  somewhat  doubtful  as  to  its  feet,  and  Katia 
carried  Baby  Stepan  in  her  arms.  So  with  his  gun  and 
spear  under  one  arm,  and  his  axe  in  his  belt,  and  Katenka 
on  his  back,  Stepan  led  the  horse  carefully  by  the  head 
down  the  long  slope  toward  Chernsk. 


CHAPTER   XLVI 

LITTLE  Katenka  hid  her  face  in  her  father's  neck 
at  sight  of  the  dead  wolves,  and  Katia  shivered  and 
thanked  God  for  their  own  safety  as  they  passed  the 
raw  bones  of  the  gray  horse.  But  the  snow  was  hard, 
and  the  sun  shone  brightly,  and  it  was  good  to  breathe 
the  fresh  air  again  even  though  it  was  keen  as  a  knife. 

They  were  weak  from  want  of  food,  but  the  strong 
air  braced  both  them  and  the  horse,  and  presently 
they  were  able  to  rest  the  children  on  it,  and  to  help 
themselves  by  laying  hold  of  its  gear,  and  so  they  came 
into  Chernsk  before  the  lights  were  out. 

From  his  knowledge  of  Danof,  Stepan  deemed  it  well 
to  go  at  once  and  report  himself  at  police  headquarters, 
and  they  arrived  there  escorted  by  a  small  crowd  of 
villagers  whom  their  passage  had  drawn  out  of  the 
houses. 

"What  is  this?"  said  Danof,  at  sight  of  them.  "You 
have  no  right  to  be  here." 

"We  could  not  help  ourselves,  Excellency." 

"Why?" 

"We  have  been  snowed  up  in  the  hills  for  twenty- 
eight  days,"  and  the  bystanders  buzzed  with  surprise. 

"Twenty-eight  days  !    And  your  permit  says  ten  — " 
218 


THE  LONG  ROAD  219 

The  letter  of  the  law  and  a  narrow  mind  are 
capable  of  infinite  mischief  and  rarely  fail  to  accom- 
plish it. 

"  There  are  powers  stronger  even  than  his  Excel- 
lency's, Excellency — "  began  Stepan. 

"We  do  not  admit  it,"  said  Danof,  sourly. 

"But  we  were  snowed  up  and  could  not  move." 

"  You  had  no  right  to  allow  yourself  to  be  snowed  up, 
and  you  should  have  moved." 

"Last  night,"  said  Stepan,  by  way  of  diversion,  "we 
were  attacked  by  wolves.  I  killed  sixteen  of  them. 
They  are  up  there  by  our  house." 

"Da!"  said  a  bystander.  "Sixteen  wolves!  That 
is  eighty  roubles,"  for  at  that  time  they  were  paid 
five  roubles  for  every  wolf's  head. 

"Well,  you  cannot  stop  here,"  said  Danof.  "You 
must  move  on." 

Stepan  looked  at  him  in  amazement. 

"To-night,  Excellency?" 

"At  once.  You  have  been  here  ten  days  already, 
and  your  papers  say  you  must  not  stop  more  than  ten 
days  in  any  one  place  on  any  condition  whatever." 

"But  I  have  moved  on  since  I  was  here  last,  Excel- 
lency." 

"If  you  stop  to-night,  you  will  have  stopped  here 
eleven  days.  Is  it  not  so?" 

"Not  eleven  days  together,  Excellency." 

"Eleven  days  is  eleven  days." 


220  THE  LONG  ROAD 

"With  respect,  Excellency,  none  other  has  so  inter- 
preted the  order." 

"I  have  nothing  to  do  with  the  others.  If  they  like 
to  put  their  heads  in  the  noose,  it  is  nothing  to  me. 
You  must  move  on." 

"My  wife  and  the  children  I  will  leave  at  the  inn, 
then.  We  have  all  been  starving  up  there." 

"We  go  with  you,  Stepan,"  said  Katia,  valiantly, 
but  she  looked  very  frail  and  white  in  the  lamplight,  and 
very  weary  with  her  long  tramp,  after  the  wasting  of 
those  twenty-eight  days  under  the  snow. 

He  was  about  to  argue  the  matter  with  her  and 
insist  upon  her  stopping,  when  matters  took  another 
turn. 

"That  is  Ivan  Tsilka's  saddle  you  have  on  your 
horse,"  said  the  old  Cossack  sergeant  who  had  been 
looking  at  it  carefully.  "Ivan  Tsilka  of  Drem.  I 
know  it  by  the  mountings." 

"How  came  you  by  that?"  asked  Captain  Danof, 
scenting  possible  crime. 

Stepan  explained  how  he  came  by  it. 

"We  must  look  into  the  matter,"  said  Danof.  "I 
must  keep  you  here  till  we  have  done  so." 

"As  you  please,  Excellency.  It  is  all  just  as  I  have 
told  you." 

Then  it  suddenly  struck  his  Excellency  that  if  he 
kept  him  there  he  would  himself  be  infringing  Paschkin's 
ordinances,  which  was  a  serious  thing  to  do,  and  the 


THE  LONG  ROAD  221 

thought  of  that  set  him  scowling  and  inwardly  cursing 
the  cause  of  his  annoyance. 

However,  after  much  thinking,  he  got  over  the  diffi- 
culty by  sending  Stepan  to  be  locked  up  in  the  next 
village,  five  miles  away,  and  Katia  determinedly  went 
with  him.  Danof,  however,  permitted  him,  since  there 
was  no  injunction  against  it,  to  arrange  with  one  of 
the  villagers  to  convey  them  there  in  his  sledge.  And 
another  one  got  them  some  food  while  the  sledge  was 
getting  ready,  and  refused  the  payment  Stepan  would 
have  made  him;  and  with  this  man  he  arranged  for 
the  care  of  his  surviving  horse,  and  also  for  the  re- 
covery of  the  house  on  wheels  as  soon  as  the  snow 
permitted,  in  case  he  should  not  himself  be  able  to 
attend  to  it. 

And  though  he  slept  that  night  under  bolt  and  bar, 
he  slept  in  more  content  than  for  many  a  long  night 
before  it.  For  Katia  and  the  children  were  safely 
lodged  in  a  house  close  by  and  had  plenty  of  money 
to  pay  their  way;  and  as  for  himself,  he  had  eaten 
enough  almost  to  make  up  for  past  deficiencies,  and  his 
mind  was  at  ease  since  he  had  done  no  wrong. 

His  jailer,  for  a  consideration,  permitted  him  to  see 
Katia  and  the  children  each  day,  and  allowed  them  to 
bring  him  food ;  and  the  quiet,  restful  time  did  them  all 
good. 

At  the  end  of  ten  days,  however,  Danof,  careful  soul 
and  literal  interpreter  of  ordinances,  sent  a  couple  of 


222  THE  LONG  ROAD 

Cossacks  to  remove  him  to  another  village,  and  Katia 
and  the  children  went  with  him.  And  again,  when 
those  ten  days  were  up,  he  was  removed  in  the  same 
way  to  still  a  third  place  of  detention.  Such  was  the 
fear  and  the  power  of  Paschkin  throughout  Siberia. 

But  at  the  end  of  thirty  days  Danof  sent  orders  to 
release  him,  having  received  instructions  to  that  effect 
from  Tatukof,  and  having  found  nothing  against  him 
in  respect  of  Ivan  Tsilka  of  Drem,  who  was  alive  and 
well,  though  minus  a  gray  horse.  He  also  sent  a 
formal  reminder  that,  since  he  had  been  ten  days  in 
prison  in  that  village,  it  was  time  he  moved  on  at  once, 
which  injunction  Stepan  obeyed  with  cheerful  alacrity. 

They  had  money  to  live  on  and  to  spare.  Spring 
was  but  a  few  weeks  ahead,  then  they  would  set  the 
house  on  its  wheels  again  and  once  more  enjoy  the 
good  times  on  the  road.  And  when  the  next  winter 
came,  Stepan  had  made  up  his  mind  that  Katia  and  the 
children  should  take  no  such  risks  again,  but  should 
stop  in  some  town  where  he  could  visit  them  from 
time  to  time,  and  his  mind  would  be  at  ease  on  their 
account. 

Katia  had  brought  him  word  that  the  decent  men  of 
Chernsk  had  succeeded  in  bringing  the  caravan  into 
the  town  and  were  holding  it  there  for  him,  and  he 
set  off  at  once  to  take  possession. 


CHAPTER  XL VII 

BUT  the  hard  times  in  the  snow,  and  her  anxiety  on 
Stepan's  account,  had  told  heavily  on  Katia  herself, 
and  the  very  day  they  reached  Chernsk  she  fell  sick, 
and  before  night  was  in  a  high  fever.  The  sickness 
had  been  working  in  her  for  many  days,  but  her  valiant 
heart  had  kept  down  all  outward  appearance  of  it,  and 
now  she  had  to  pay.  When  at  last  she  did  break  down, 
the  collapse  was  complete  and  terrifying. 

It  was  when  they  were  driving  in  a  hired  telega  to 
Chernsk,  and  were  within  sight  of  the  town,  that  she 
gripped  Stepan's  arm  with  a  suddenness  that  startled 
him  nearly  off  his  seat  on  the  side  of  the  bumping 
wagon. 

"  The  wolves ! "  she  said  in  a  hoarse  whisper.  "  Don't 
you  hear  them,  Stepan?  They  are  coming.  Yes, 
they  are  coming,  Stepan.  They  will  catch  us,  and 
tear  us  as  they  did  the  gray  horse." 

He  looked  down  at  her  in  amazement,  and  saw  the 
white  cheeks  burning  and  the  blue  eyes  blazing. 

"There  are  no  wolves,  dushenka,"  he  said  soothingly 
but  in  great  fear  of  heart,  for  he  had  never  seen  her 
this  way  before. 

"I  hear  them.     They  are  coming.     They  will  catch 
223 


224  THE   LONG  ROAD 

us,  Stepan,"  and  she  sank  back  on  to  the  bundles  in 
the  bottom  of  the  telega,  and  threw  an  arm  round 
Katenka,  who  began  to  cry  with  fear,  and  clasped 
little  Stepan  tight  to  her  breast. 

"If  they  come,  I  will  kill  them  as  I  did  before,"  he 
said,  by  way  of  humouring  her,  and  drove  on  the 
faster. 

She  would  lie  still  for  a  minute,  and  then  start  up 
with  terrified  eyes  and  wild  fear  in  her  face,  crying: 
"Faster,  Stepan!  Faster!  They  are  coming!  They 
are  coming!"  till  little  Katenka  shrieked  with  terror, 
and  the  tiny  Stepan,  sharing  the  general  discomfort, 
added  his  tiny  pipe.  And  Stepan,  with  a  greater  fear 
at  his  heart  than  the  wolves  had  ever  roused  there, 
flogged  the  straining  horse  to  still  greater  speed,  for 
this  was  beyond  his  understanding,  and  all  he  knew 
was  that  he  must  get  help. 

So  they  rattled  through  the  long  street  of  Chernsk, 
and  the  townspeople  all  turned  out  to  wonder  at 
them. 

He  drove  to  the  inn,  and  carried  Katia  and  little 
Stepan  inside,  leaving  little  Katenka  wailing  in  the 
telega. 

"She  is  ill,"  he  said  hurriedly  to  the  woman  of  the 
inn.  "Send  for  a  doctor  while  I  get  her  to  bed." 

And  the  doctor,  when  he  came  and  examined  her, 
shook  his  head  gravely,  and  said  :  - 

"She  has  the  fever  and  she  has  had  it  many  days. 


THE  LONG  ROAD  225 

Why  has  she  not  been  nursed  ?  "  and  he  looked  sombrely 
at  Stepan. 

"I  am  only  released  from  prison  to-day,"  said  Stepan, 
"and  I  knew  nothing  of  it." 

"  Ah  !"  said  the  doctor,  who  knew  his  story.  "Well, 
I  will  do  what  I  can,  but  unless  you  watch  her  night 
and  day,  you  will  lose  her." 

"Lose  her!  Lose  her!  Oh,  my  God!"  began 
Stepan,  at  so  dire  a  prospect. 

Then  the  woman  of  the  inn  came  in  to  tell  him  he 
was  wanted  outside.  And  outside  was  a  stolid  Cos- 
sack, with  a  message  from  the  chief  that  he  could  not 
be  allowed  to  stop  in  the  town  that  night  and  must 
move  on  at  once. 

"See,  Iline!"  said  Danof,  when  Stepan  had  panted 
out  his  story,  in  words  that  tumbled  hotly  over  one  an- 
other, and  with  eyes  that  swam  blindly  at  thought  of 
Katia's  extremity.  "  It  was  not  I  indorsed  your  papers, 
but  on  me  rests  the  responsibility  if  I  depart  from  the 
instructions.  You  must  go." 

"I  have  been  away  thirty  days,"  panted  Stepan, 
grasping  wildly  at  any  chance. 

"You  have  stopped  here  ten  days  already.  Your 
papers  do  not  permit  you  to  stay  longer  than  ten  days 
in  any  one  place  upon  any  conditions  whatever.  It  is 
no  use  talking.  You  must  go." 

"Before  God,  Excellency — "began  Stepan,  feeling 
somewhat  as  he  did  when  he  chopped  at  the  wolves. 
Q 


226  THE  LONG  ROAD 

But  Danof  waved  him  down  peremptorily  and  closed 
the  interview.  He  was  not  by  nature  an  exceptionally 
cruel  man ;  arbitrary  and  hard,  indeed,  and  bound  to 
the  final  letter  of  the  law,  but  he  was  getting  tired  of 
the  trouble  this  man  caused  him.  And  when  it  came 
to  a  question  of  possible  ill  results  to  himself  or  to 
another,  the  matter  needed  no  consideration. 

"If  you  are  not  out  of  Chernsk  inside  an  hour,  you 
will  leave  under  escort  for  Irkutsk,"  said  Danof,  angrily. 

And  Stepan  smote  down  both  him  and  Paschkin 
with  the  blow  of  an  imaginary  axe,  and  turned  and 
left  the  room. 

Within  the  hour  he  had  made  such  arrangements  for 
Katia's  welfare  as  were  possible  at  alien  hands;  had 
seen  the  doctor  and  bitterly  explained  the  matter  to 
him,  and  enlisted  his  sympathy  and  best  care;  had 
settled  up  his  affairs  with  the  townsfolk;  had  bought 
another  horse ;  and  was  bumping  slowly  over  the  thin 
snow  to  a  village  ten  miles  away.  There  even  Pasch- 
kin could  not  hinder  his  staying  for  ten  days,  and  there 
he  could  get  news  of  Katia  each  day  in  one  way  or 
another. 

He  took  the  children  with  him.  Fortunately,  Katia, 
feeling  her  own  strength  on  the  wane,  had  weaned  little 
Stepan  and  he  felt  the  separation  least  of  all.  Katenka 
sobbed  ceaselessly  for  her  mother ;  and  her  father,  with 
his  own  heart  rent  and  broken,  comforted  her  as  best 
he  could  and  with  infinite  tenderness. 


CHAPTER  XL VIII 

Now  indeed  the  decree  of  Paschkin  bit  deep,  and 
the  venom  of  it  might  well  have  poisoned  the  soul  of  a 
better  man.  But  it  struck  too  deep  for  curses.  Words 
were  futile  and  cursing  was  waste  of  breath. 

He  could  think  only  of  Katia  tossing  on  her  bed 
among  strangers,  chased  for  ever  by  the  howling  pack, 
and  calling  ceaselessly  for  his  help,  as  he  had  heard 
her  when  he  went  in  to  kiss  her  forehead  and  she  in- 
stantly lay  still.  Ah,  God!  Would  they  watch  her 
and  tend  her  as  he  would  have  done?  Could  they 
soothe  her  with  gentle  words  as  he  would  have  done? 
Could  they  —  No  !  They  could  do  nothing,  and  Katia 
would  die.  And  his  heart  curdled  within  him  at  the 
prospect. 

Before  it  was  light  he  left  Katenka  and  the  little 
Stepan  in  charge  of  a  woman  of  the  village,  and  took 
one  of  his  horses,  and  rode  back  to  Chernsk. 

He  found  Katia  still  fleeing  before  the  wolves,  and 
she  clung  to  him  desperately.  She  did  not  seem  to 
know  him,  but  in  some  mysterious  way  his  voice 
soothed  her. 

The  doctor,  when  he  came  in,  assured  him  that  she 

had  lacked  nothing.     But  he  did  not  look  hopeful.   Her 

227 


228  THE  LONG  ROAD 

strength  had  been  sapped.  The  fever  was  raging  high. 
He  knew  that  before  long  it  would  wear  her  out,  that 
the  fires  would  die  for  want  of  fuel,  and  nothing  but 
ashes  would  be  left. 

It  was  midday  before  Captain  Danof  heard  that  he 
was  there. 

Then  he  sent  for  him,  but  the  interview  was  a  short 
one. 

"Iline,  I  cannot  permit  it,"  began  Danof. 

Stepan  said  nothing,  but  there  was  that  look  out  of 
his  eyes  which  sent  a  chill  down  Danof 's  back,  as  though 
the  finger  of  Death  had  touched  him,  and  the  remem- 
brance of  it  remained  with  him. 

He  saw  Stepan 's  eyes,  and  that  dreadful  thing  that 
lay  behind  them  on  the  blank  wall  long  after  Stepan 
himself  had  turned  and  gone  without  speaking  a  word. 
He  saw  them  on  the  stark  blackness  of  the  night  when 
he  lay  in  bed.  And  the  recollection  of  where  and 
when  he  had  once  before  seen  eyes  like  them  came 
back  to  him  and  made  him  thoughtful. 

The  stockaded  yard  of  a  prison ;  a  man  undergoing 
the  knout,  the  flesh  of  his  back  hanging  in  strips ;  that 
same  dreadful  look  in  his  eyes;  the  man  cast  off  and 
sunk  in  a  heap,  a  raw,  ragged  remnant  of  humanity; 
the  Governor  passing  it  unmoved  with  his  young  aide, 
Danof;  the  sudden,  horrible  uncoiling  of  the  ragged 
heap ;  the  leap  at  the  Governor's  throat ;  the  wild  beast 
rending  and  tearing ;  the  hacking  of  it  off  with  swords, 


THE  LONG  ROAD  229 

but  not  until  its  dreadful  work  was  done,  and  the 
Governor  would  knout  no  more  men  to  ribbons. 

And  the  same  dreadful  thing  that  looked  out  of  those 
eyes  in  that  stockaded  yard  had  looked  out  of  Stepan 
Iline's  eyes  at  him  that  day. 

Captain  Danof  cursed  Stepan  Iline  and  he  cursed 
Paschkin.  He  was  still  cursing  promiscuously,  and 
still  undecided  what  to  do  in  the  matter,  when  he  fell 
asleep.  His  ideas  tended  vaguely  toward  guns  and 
special  instructions  to  his  Cossack  guard. 

Each  time  he  woke  those  eyes  glared  at  him  out  of 
the  darkness.  Perhaps,  after  all,  it  might  be  better 
to  waive  a  point  in  the  matter.  It  was  terribly  hard 
on  the  man,  there  was  no  doubt  about  that.  Paschkin 
was  undoubtedly  possessed  of  the  Devil,  as  all  men  said. 
If  the  effects  of  his  abuses  fell  only  on  himself,  well  and 
good.  But  —  well,  he  would  see  in  the  morning.  And 
he  tried  hard  to  shut  out  those  eyes  and  all  that  lay 
behind  them,  but  could  not,  no  matter  how  tightly  he 
closed  his  own. 

It  was  no  platoon  of  Cossacks  with  instructions  to 
shoot  him  down,  however,  which  met  Stepan  outside 
the  town,  as  he  came  galloping  through  the  mist- 
wreaths  in  the  early  morning,  but  only  the  old  sergeant, 
alone  and  unarmed,  while  Stepan  presented  a  wild 
enough  figure  on  his  rough  barebacked  horse.  He  had 
his  long  gun  at  his  back,  his  axe  in  his  belt,  his  home- 
made spear  in  his  hand,  and  if  looks  went  for  any- 
thing he  was  quite  prepared  to  use  them. 


23o  THE   LONG  ROAD 

He  came  anticipating  resistance.  His  face  was  lean 
and  hungry,  his  eyes  burnt  in  their  hollows,  his  hairs 
bristled  wildly.  He  looked  more  beast  of  prey  than 
man.  The  old  sergeant  thought  he  looked  like  a  bow 
bent  to  its  fullest  just  before  the  arrow  leaves  the 
string. 

The  sergeant  threw  up  his  hand  and  stopped  him. 
Stepan  jerked  round  his  gun  and  prepared  for  combat. 

"  Don't  shoot  me,  Stepan  Ivanovitch,"  said  the 
sergeant,  quietly.  "I  have  come  to  speak,  not  to  fight 
with  you,"  and  Stepan,  seeing  that  he  had  no  weapon, 
lowered  his  own.  "And  I  come  on  my  own  account, 
not  from  the  chief." 

"  Speak  quickly,  then.     My  wife  waits." 

"It  was  to  warn  you  I  came.  You  risk  everything 
by  coming  thus.  You  must  know  that  the  chief  has  no 
choice  in  the  matter.  What  can  be  done  for  your  wife 
is  being  done.  You  can  do  no  more  — " 

"And  you  —  if  your  wife  lay  there,  what  would 
you  do?" — jerked  Stepan,  with  sparks  in  his  smoul- 
dering eyes. 

"I?  Before  God,  I  would  do  as  you  are  doing, 
Stepan  Ivanovitch.  All  the  same,  it  is  not  wisdom." 

"With  my  own  hands,  up  there  in  the  hills,  I  slew 
sixteen  wolves,"  said  Stepan,  not  vauntingly,  but  as  an 
argument  of  weight.  "If  needs  be,  I  will  slay  sixteen 
men  if  they  stand  between  me  and  my  wife.  Carry 
that  word  to  the  chief.  Now  I  go,"  and  he  kicked  his 


THE  LONG  ROAD  231 

heels  into  the  shaggy  sides  of  his  horse  and  galloped 
away  through  the  mist. 

His  eyes  shot  wary  glances  all  round  as  he  came  into 
the  town.  But  they  fell  on  nothing  suspicious,  and  he 
went  straight  to  the  inn. 

He  was  stepping  down  the  passage  as  quietly  as  his 
armament  would  permit,  when  the  door  of  his  wife's 
room  opened  and  the  doctor  came  out.  He  started  at 
the  bristling  aspect  of  the  man,  then  quietly  beckoned 
him  in,  and  they  stood  by  the  bed  on  which  Katia  lay 
at  rest. 

"She  died  at  the  dawn,"  said  the  doctor.  "I  was 
with  her  all  night.  She  has  wanted  for  nothing,  but 
it  was  too  late." 

Iline  spoke  no  word,  but  gazed  like  a  ravenous  beast 
on  the  sweet,  dead  face.  Then,  before  the  doctor  saw 
what  he  was  at,  he  stooped  and  gathered  her  up,  blank- 
ets and  all,  and  bore  her  from  the  room.  He  scram- 
bled on  to  his  horse  somehow,  dug  his  heels  into  its 
sides,  and  galloped  off  the  way  he  had  come,  with  that 
which  had  been  his  life  clasped  tightly  in  front  of  him. 

The  old  sergeant  saw  him  coming  and  understood. 
He  gravely  saluted  the  burden  Iline  bore, — the  visible 
burden,  and  perhaps  the  invisible,  —  and  stood  and 
looked  after  him  till  he  disappeared  in  the  mist. 

Then  he  shook  his  head  and  said,  "Paschkin  is  the 
Devil,"  and  as  he  went  into  the  town,  he  said,  "If 
Iline  and  Paschkin  ever  meet  — "  and  then  he  nodded 


23  2  THE   LONG  ROAD 

his  head,  and  then  he  shook  it,  and  possibly  he  thought 
what  he  would  have  done  himself  under  such  circum- 
stances. For  a  man  may  be  a  sergeant  of  Cossacks 
and  yet  retain  the  feelings  of  a  man,  though  it  is  some- 
what unusual,  I  grant  you. 


CHAPTER  XLIX 

STEFAN  buried  Katia  in  a  lonely  place  among  the 
hills;  where,  none  but  he  knew. 

Then  he  went  quietly  back  to  the  village  where  he 
had  left  the  children,  busied  himself  getting  the  house 
on  to  its  wheels  again,  and  two  days  later  set  out 
gloomily  for  the  south. 

But  how  different  now  the  travelling  —  for  him  at 
all  events !  For  his  heart  and  the  best  of  his  life  were 
in  that  lonely  grave  among  the  hills  by  Chernsk.  He 
went  because  he  had  to  go,  to  keep  moving  on.  Pasch- 
kin  had  said  it.  Paschkin  —  ah  —  yes  !  —  Paschkin  ! 
And  whenever  he  thought  of  Paschkin,  his  face  grew 
hard  and  grim,  and  his  eyes  smouldered  like  the  ashes 
of  a  fire  that  only  needed  fuel  to  make  it  blaze. 

The  bells  —  the  deep-toned  crimson  in  the  middle 
and  the  silvery  chimers  at  the  sides  —  sang  as  merrily 
as  ever;  but  the  music  had  gone  out  of  his  life  with 
Katia,  and  that  in  him  which  had  responded  to  their 
singing  lay  under  the  piled  stones  on  the  hillside  by 
Chernsk.  But  for  the  children  and  their  delight  in 
them,  he  would  have  put  the  bells  away  and  gone  in 
silence,  as  his  sore  heart  did. 

The  snow  still  covered  the  hills  and  lay  in  patches 
233 


23|  THE   LONG  ROAD 

here  and  there,  in  exposed  places,  even  by  the  road- 
side. The  roads  were  full  of  mud,  and  he  sat  on  the 
seat  where  Katia  used  to  sit,  and  little  Katenka  sat 
beside  him,  chattering  all  the  time  like  a  merry  magpie, 
full  of  life  and  the  spring,  and  calling  the  little  father's 
attention  to  this  thing  and  that,  as  her  sharp  eyes  sought 
and  found  their  intimate  concerns  even  in  muddy  roads 
and  snow-streaked  hillsides.  And  Baby  Stepan  swung 
safely  in  a  great  pocket  in  the  doorway  between  them, 
and  clapped  his  hands  and  gurgled  at  Katenka  and  the 
horses  and  the  bells,  and  at  things  about  him  that  were 
hidden  from  all  but  himself.  These  two  found  the 
world  still  bright,  and  they  lacked  nothing,  in  material 
matters  at  all  events. 

But  at  times  little  Katenka  would  wring  her  father's 
heart,  and  scrape  his  raw  wounds,  with  her  innocent 
questionings. 

"Will  the  little  mother  come  back  to  us  to-day, 
little  father?"  she  would  ask. 

"Not  to-day,  little  Katenka,"  he  would  answer 
gloomily,  with  a  twisting  mouth. 

"Why  then?    I  want  her.     Where  has  she  gone?" 

"She  has  gone  on  in  front,  little  Katenka." 

"She  never  did  that  before,  little  father.  Why  has 
she  gone  on  in  front  now?" 

"She  had  to  go,  dushenka.  She  could  not  help 
it." 

"Was  it  the  evil  Paschkin  made  her  go,  little  father?" 


THE  LONG  ROAD  235 

for  to  Katenka  Paschkin  represented  all  power  and 
all  evil. 

"Yes,  it  was  Paschkin  made  her  go,"  he  would  say 
through  his  set  teeth,  and  then  the  smouldering  fire 
in  his  heart  would  spurt  into  a  blaze. 

"He  is  a  bad,  bad  man,  is  Paschkin,"  said  little 
Katenka.  "Why  don't  you  kill  him,  little  father,  as 
you  killed  the  wolves  up  there  in  the  snow?" 

"Ah!"  and  little  Katenka  heard  his  teeth  gritting 
inside,  and  for  a  moment  his  face  was  as  it  had  been 
when  he  came  in  from  killing  wolves  and  spoke 
roughly  to  her.  But  he  had  never  spoken  to  her  so 
except  that  one  time,  and  she  was  not  frightened  of 
him  now. 

And  more  than  once  she  asked:  "The  little  mother 
has  got  a  long,  long  way  in  front  of  us.  Shall  we  catch 
her  to-day,  little  father?  Shall  we  catch  her  to-day?" 

"Not  to-day,  little  Katenka." 

"She  has  gone  fast,  fast.  But  we  shall  come  up 
with  her  sometime,  little  father?" 

"Please  God,  little  Katenka!"  and  the  child  lived 
in  hope. 

He  remembered  long  afterward  how  Katenka  found 
her  first  spring  flowers. 

They  were  jogging  along  through  the  white  spring 
sunshine,  and  Katenka  was  prattling  away  as  usual, 
when  suddenly  she  jumped  to  her  feet  and  began 
dancing  excitedly. 


236  THE   LONG  ROAD 

"Stop,  little  father,  stop!"  she  cried,  and  he  drew 
rein  on  the  instant. 

"Lift  me  down,  little  father,  lift  me  down !  I  must 
get  them.  Oh,  the  darlings!  I  must  get  them !" 

"What  is  it  then,  dushenka?"  he  asked,  as  he  swung 
her  down. 

"There!"  she  cried  breathlessly,  and  sped  away 
back,  and  up  toward  a  swath  of  snow,  and  fell  on  her 
knees  beside  it,  kissing  in  wild  delight  a  patch  of  little 
blue  flowers  which  her  sharp  eyes  had  spied  against 
their  background  of  the  snow. 

"Oh,  the  darlings!"  and  the  rosy  face  was  buried 
among  them  again.  "They  are  like  the  little  mother's 
eyes,  little  father,"  —  and  truly  they  were  a  wonderful 
and  beautiful  deep  blue,  —  "she  has  passed  this  way, 
and  she  told  them  to  look  for  us.  And,  oh,  if  we  had 
missed  them !  But  they  laughed  up  at  me,  and  I  saw 
them,  and  they  made  me  think  of  the  little  mother. 
Oh,  if  we  had  passed,  what  would  she  have  said? 
She  would  have  said,  '  Did  you  see  my  blue-eyed  flow- 
ers?' And  if  we  had  said  'No,'  she  would  have  been 
sad." 

So  they  gathered  the  blue-eyed  flowers,  and  little 
Katenka  talked  of  them  all  that  day,  and  went  to  sleep 
that  night  with  them  clasped  so  tightly  in  her  hand  that 
all  the  life  that  was  left  in  them  was  gone  long  before 
the  morning.  But,  because  she  had  been  thinking  and 
talking  so  much  of  her  mother  all  through  the  day,  she 


THE   LONG  ROAD  237 

dreamed  of  her  all  night.  And  when  she  had  cried 
over  her  flowers  in  the  morning,  she  told  her  father 
very  minutely  and  circumstantially  all  that  had  passed 
between  them.  And  that  day  they  found  quantities 
of  blue  flowers  and  she  was  happy  again. 

Each  day  after  that  brought  them  more  and  more 
beautiful  unfoldings  of  the  spring,  and  little  Katenka 
was  busy  from  morning  till  night,  flitting  to  and  fro 
among  them  with  shrieks  of  delight,  and  never  so 
happy  as  when  her  arms  were  filled  to  overflowing. 

And  yet  at  times  the  child  grew  sober  and  thought- 
ful in  the  lack  of  that  which  had  been  and  was  not, 
for  nothing  can  quite  fill  the  place  of  a  mother's  care 
and  love. 

Her  father  was  gentleness  itself  and  did  his  best,  but 
there  was  a  something  of  softness  and  tenderness  gone 
out  of  her  life,  and  just  now  and  again  she  missed  it, 
and  grew  sober  over  it. 

In  the  little  intricacies  of  their  toilets  he  had  at  first 
blundered  sorely.  But  Katenka  greeted  all  his  short- 
comings with  such  peals  of  merry  laughter,  and  en- 
joyed herself  so  amazingly  in  setting  him  right,  and 
showing  him  how  to  do  things  properly,  that  he  proved 
himself  but  a  dull  scholar,  and  prolonged  his  appren- 
ticeship on  purpose  to  keep  his  teacher  entertained. 
But  with  it  all  he  took  good  care  that  in  nothing  should 
they  go  awanting  —  in  nothing  save  that  one  thing  of 
which  Paschkin  had  robbed  them  all. 


233  THE   LONG  ROAD 

Of  an  evening,  by  the  fire,  when  they  had  fed,  and 
Baby  Stepan  had,  between  them,  been  undressed  and 
washed  and  got  off  to  sleep,  she  would  climb  up  into 
her  father's  arms,  where  he  sat  seeing  things  in  the 
dancing  flames,  and  seek  his  caresses.  They  were 
soft  and  tender  always,  and  full  of  a  gentle  pity  which 
was  beyond  her  understanding ;  but  they  lacked  some- 
thing of  the  gladness  she  vaguely  remembered  and  as 
vaguely  missed. 

And  inside  the  house,  in  the  loneliness  of  the  night, 
she  would  creep  across  to  him  and  nestle  into  his  arms, 
and  he  would  kiss  her  softly  and  sadly.  For,  dear  as 
she  was  to  him,  she  could  not  at  all  fill  the  place  of 
the  little  mother  who  was  gone,  nor  could  he  quite  to 
her. 


CHAPTER  L 

THE  early  days  of  their  travelling  brought  a  new  in- 
mate to  the  house  on  wheels,  —  a  little  comrade  in 
whom  Katenka  rejoiced  exceedingly,  and  Baby  Stepan 
also,  but  in  lesser  degree  in  accord  with  his  under- 
standing. 

Iline  was  striding  along  by  his  horses  up  a  steep  hill- 
road,  with  his  head  down  in  gloomy  thought.  Katenka 
was  flitting  about  the  hillside  after  flowers,  chattering 
away  to  them  and  to  herself  as  usual.  Baby  Stepan 
swung  in  his  pocket  in  the  doorway  and  clapped  his 
hands  at  all  and  everything. 

Suddenly,  a  shriek  from  Katenka,  arrested  in  her 
flight  from  one  side  of  the  road  to  the  other:  "Oh^ 
stop,  little  father,  stop !  See  the  dear  little  white 
brother  of  the  woods  1" 

And  Stepan  stopped  his  horses  just  as  they  were 
about  to  walk  over  a  very  small  white  owl,  which  sat 
in  the  middle  of  the  road  looking  solemnly  at  the 
approaching  team,  but  making  no  effort  to  escape. 

It  was  bruised  and  dusty  and  dazed.  What  family 
catastrophe  had  befallen  it  they  could  not  tell,  but  it 
was  evidently  unhappy,  and  quite  unable  to  take  proper 
care  of  itself. 

239 


240  THE   LONG  ROAD 

"Is  it  alive,  little  father?  Is  it  alive?"  cried  the 
breathless  Katenka,  as  he  picked  the  soft  white  bundle 
up.  "  Yes,  it  is  alive,  for  it  moved  its  eyes.  Oh,  what 
great  big  eyes  the  little  brother  has!" 

"It  is  hurt,  I  think,  little  Katenka,  and  if  you  had 
not  seen  it,  we  should  have  walked  right  over  it." 

"Oh,  the  poor  little  brother!  Shall  we  keep  it  till 
it  is  well,  little  father?  I  am  sure  it  cannot  take  care 
of  itself.  Shall  we  keep  it,  little  father?" 

"Yes,  we  will  keep  it,  little  Katenka.  We  will 
keep  it  till  it  can  fly  again,  and  then  it  shall  fly  away." 

"Put  me  up  on  the  seat,  little  father,  and  give  the 
little  brother  to  me,  and  I  will  nurse  it,"  and  all  that 
day  she  sat  nursing  the  little  brother  and  crooning 
softly  to  it  to  soothe  its  fears.  And  when  it  bit  her 
finger  once  it  was  only  a  very  small  bite,  and  she  only 
laughed  merrily  and  cried  down  to  her  father,  "Little 
father,  the  little  white  brother  has  bitten  my  finger  and 
I  think  he  must  be  hungry." 

So  her  father  gave  her  a  piece  of  raw  meat,  and  bade 
her  tear  it  in  small  pieces  and  feed  the  little  brother 
with  it.  And  she  had  many  questions  to  ask  as  to 
why  he  liked  his  meat  raw,  and  if  he  would  not  like  it 
better  cooked  if  he  once  tried  it;  and  while  she  chat- 
tered, the  little  brother  proved  that  raw  meat  was  quite 
to  his  taste,  and,  whatever  his  injuries,  he  had  not 
lost  his  appetite. 

He  showed  no  disposition  to  go  away.     Such  appre- 


THE  LONG  ROAD  241 

elation  and  attention,  such  a  supply  of  delicious  food 
without  any  necessity  of  seeking  it,  such  comfortable 
lodgings,  and  such  pleasant  companionship  did  not 
fall  to  the  lot  of  little  owls  every  day  in  the  week,  and 
this  one  showed  the  wisdom  of  his  kind  by  accepting 
the  position  with  philosophic  content. 

So  preternaturally  wise  did  he  look  at  all  times,  indeed, 
that  little  Katenka's  merry  laugh  pealed  out  whenever 
she  looked  at  him,  and  even  Stepan's  grave  face  re- 
laxed, now  and  again,  when  he  caught  the  great  solemn 
eyes  of  the  little  brother  turned  upon  him  as  if  he 
knew  all  his  thoughts  and  could  read  him  through  and 
through. 

Katenka  would  sit  by  the  hour  on  the  front  seat, 
nursing  the  new  little  comrade  and  pointing  out  to 
him  all  the  odd  things  which  caught  her  eye  as  they 
jogged  along.  And  if  the  little  white  brother  said 
nothing,  he  was  at  all  events  an  excellent  listener  and 
seemed  to  ponder  it  all  very  thoughtfully. 

At  night  he  perched  on  a  cross  beam  in  a  corner  near 
the  ikon,  and  when  the  country  folk  climbed  up  to  peep 
inside,  and  their  eyes  wandered  from  the  holy  images 
to  the  solemn  little  white  bundle  alongside,  they  stared 
hard,  and  then  dropped  back,  saying:  "Da!  but  you 
have  some  strange  things  up  there,  Stepan  Ivanovitch. 
One  would  almost  think  that  little  white  owl  was  alive." 

When  he  quite  got  over  the  effects  of  his  accident,  he 
took  an  occasional  flight  abroad,  and  the  first  time  he 


242  THE   LONG  ROAD 

went  Katenka  thought  he  had  gone  for  good  and  was 
sorely  troubled. 

They  had  made  their  camp  and  lighted  their  fire. 
The  black  pot  was  boiling,  and  Katenka  was  mother- 
ing Baby  Stepan  as  he  sprawled  on  his  back  and  kicked 
and  squealed,  when  suddenly  the  little  white  brother, 
who  had  been  sitting  in  a  bunch  blinking  at  the  flames, 
flapped  his  wings  and  sailed  silently  off  into  the  forest. 

"Little  father!  Little  father!"  shrieked  Katenka 
in  dismay,  "the  little  brother  is  gone.  He  has  flown 
away  above  the  trees.  Oh,  little  father,  whatever  shall 
we  do  ?"  and  she  wept  passionately  at  the  little  brother's 
desertion. 

Her  father  comforted  her  as  well  as  he  could. 

"You  would  not  keep  the  little  brother  against  his 
will,  little  Katenka,"  he  said  gently. 

"No,  no,  but  I  loved  him,  little  father,  and  he  loved 
me,  and  I  wanted  him.  Oh,  why  should  he  go  away  ?  " 

"Perhaps  he  has  gone  to  seek  his  own  brothers  and 
sisters,  little  Katenka.  Perhaps  he  heard  them  calling 
in  the  woods." 

"I  loved  him  more  than  them  all,"  sobbed  Katenka, 
and  refused  to  be  comforted. 

But  when  in  the  night  she  lay  awake  with  her  grief, 
feeling  the  house  empty  for  lack  of  the  little  white 
brother,  of  a  sudden  she  heard  a  flutter  at  the  door, 
then  a  well-known  scrabble  of  little  claws,  and  the  little 
brother  was  climbing  up  to  his  usual  perch. 


THE   LONG  ROAD  243 

She  jumped  up  with  a  shout  of  joy  that  woke  Baby 
Stepan. 

" Little  father,  little  father!"  she  cried  to  the  sombre 
man  sitting  by  the  dying  fire  below,  "the  little  white 
brother  has  come  home  again.  He  is  here  on  his 
perch  above  my  head." 

"I  am  glad,  little  Katenka,"  said  her  father,  and  little 
Katenka  hardly  slept  at  all  that  night  for  joy  of  the 
little  brother's  return. 

After  that  he  often  took  a  flight  in  the  twilight,  but 
he  always  came  back,  and  Katenka  had  no  longer  any 
fear  of  his  going  for  good. 

Baby  Stepan  was  too  young  to  feel  what  he  had  lost. 
So  long  as  his  little  round  stomach  was  kept  just  prop- 
erly filled,  and  he  could  sleep  when  he  wanted,  and 
wake  to  the  tinkling  of  the  bells  and  the  jogging  brown 
backs  of  the  horses  and  the  shining  of  the  sun  and 
Katenka's  caresses,  he  was  quite  happy. 

But  for  the  gloomy-faced  man  who  sat  of  a  night 
looking  into  the  ashes  —  the  ashes  of  the  wood  fire 
and  the  ashes  of  his  life  —  when  the  children  were 
safely  abed,  there  was  little  happiness  left.  He  was 
grateful  for  the  children,  and  much  —  but  not  all  — 
of  his  thought  was  for  them.  But  —  they  were  not 
Katia. 

When  he  was  tramping  along  by  the  horses'  heads 
up  the  long  mountain  slopes,  among  the  greening  firs 
and  pines  and  evergreens,  he  would  catch  himself 


244  THE   LONG  ROAD 

turning  at  times  to  the  open  doorway,  half  expectant 
of  the  dear  face  there.  And  then  he  would  turn  with  a 
sigh  and  plod  hopelessly  on.  And  at  such  times  little 
Katenka's  merry  chatter  and  Baby  Stepan's  babble- 
ments gave  him  no  pleasure,  but  were  like  the  turning 
of  the  knife  in  his  wound. 

And  the  rest  of  his  thought  when  he  sat  gazing  into 
the  ashes  —  Paschkin  —  always  Paschkin.  And  when 
his  thoughts  ran  on  Paschkin,  they  were  deep  thoughts 
and  dark. 

He  met  Peter  Krop  among  the  Altais,  and  the  two 
men  sat  long  that  night  over  the  ashes  and  spoke  little. 
For  Peter  Krop  had  gone  through  the  deep  waters  in 
his  time  and  he  knew  the  inadequacy  of  words. 

It  was  when  they  were  separating,  each  to  go  his 
own  way  again,  that  he  said  meaningly  to  Stepan: 
"  Remember,  Stepan  Ivanovitch,  that  the  children  are 
left  to  you.  And  children  are  a  gift  from  God." 

"I  have  not  forgotten  it,  Peter  Petrovitch,"  said 
Stepan,  and  went  on  his  way. 


CHAPTER  LI 

WITHOUT  doubt  the  children  were  Stepan's  salvation 
at  this  time.  For  the  time  being  they  stood  between 
him  and  —  much.  And  perhaps  he  dimly  recognised 
the  fact  and  repaid  them  as  he  could. 

Their  childish  ailments  he  combated  as  they  oc- 
curred, with  the  willing  advice  and  assistance  of  other 
children's  mothers  along  the  way.  Their  tiny  ward- 
robes he  replenished  in  the  same  manner.  If  they  had 
lost  one  mother,  they  had  found  a  hundred  foster- 
mothers,  who  were  always  on  the  lookout  for  their 
passing,  and  ran  out  to  greet  them  as  soon  as  the  bells 
rang  out  in  the  distance  and  the  house  on  wheels  hove 
in  sight. 

So  far  Stepan  had  had  no  serious  difficulties  in  con- 
nection with  them.  Life  flowed  along  quietly  and 
placidly,  and  the  yawning  gaps  and  fissures  below  were 
unseen.  Many  a  good-looking  girl  in  the  villages  he 
visited  would  have  jumped  at  the  chance  of  sharing 
his  house  and  his  fortunes,  —  Paschkin  and  all,  —  but 
Stepan  never  gave  them  a  thought.  His  heart  was  with 
Katia  in  the  hills  beyond  Chernsk. 

That  spring  and  summer  would  have  been  to  him 
as  great  a  joy  as  the  last  if  only  she  had  been  there. 

245 


246  THE  LONG  ROAD 

But  without  her  it  was  all  as  nothing.  It  was  living, 
but  it  was  not  life. 

He  did  not  so  express  himself  even  to  himself.  But 
he  felt  it,  which  was  very  much  more,  and  felt  it  the 
deeper,  perhaps,  because  his  thoughts  were  dumb,  and 
his  heart  was  very  sore  and  desolate. 

He  looked  forward  to  the  winter  with  doubt  and  fore- 
boding. How  carry  the  children  with  him  through 
the  snows  ?  And  yet,  how  leave  them  behind  ?  To  take 
them  would  be  a  great  risk.  To  leave  them  would 
be  a  great  anxiety.  He  would  be  fearing  ill  to  them 
every  moment  they  were  away,  no  matter  how  careful 
the  hands  in  which  he  left  them.  He  pondered  it  to 
and  fro  as  he  tramped,  and  was  still  undecided  in  his 
mind,  when,  as  autumn  drew  on,  a  great  longing  took 
him  to  visit  Katia  again,  up  there  among  the  hills  by 
Chernsk. 

The  steppe  was  carpeted  with  the  dull  gold  of  the 
dried-up  flowers  till  they  struck  the  edge  of  the  swamp, 
which  ran  from  the  foothills  nearly  as  far  as  Chernsk 
itself.  He  would  not  go  near  the  town,  but  kept  along 
by  the  hills;  and  busy  little  Katenka,  who  had  been 
mourning  the  loss  of  her  flowers,  woke  to  joy  again, 
and  flitted  along  the  edge  of  the  dark  water  like  a  hum- 
ming-bird, and  ran  back  and  forth  with  her  loads  all 
day  long,  till  the  house  on  wheels  became  a  travelling 
garden  once  more. 

They  were  still  working  round  the  low-lying  bottoms, 


THE  LONG  ROAD  247 

with  the  bright  green  islands  and  the  flaming  patches 
of  colour  that  charmed  Katenka's  soul,  when  the 
heavy  autumn  rains  came  on,  and  scored  the  hillsides 
with  deep  channels,  and  made  the  rough  roads  im- 
passable, and  set  the  dark  waters  of  the  swamp  churn- 
ing and  boiling.  And  there  they  had  to  wait  till  the 
flood-gates  above  should  be  closed  and  the  skies  should 
brighten  again. 

It  was  here  one  night,  while  the  rain  was  still  beating 
viciously  on  the  roof  and  pouring  in  monotonous  little 
cascades  from  the  eaves,  that  little  Katenka  suddenly 
lost  all  her  brightness  and  the  joy  of  life,  and  lay  heavy- 
eyed  and  flushed  and  listless,  and  the  little  white 
brother  from  his  perch  looked  down  on  her  with 
solemn  wonder. 

Stepan  treated  her  as  he  had  done  under  the  advice 
of  the  many  foster-mothers  for  apparently  similar  ail- 
ments, and  hoped  the  morning  would  find  her  better. 

But  in  the  middle  of  the  night  she  startled  him  from 
a  half  sleep  with  a  strange,  gasping  croak,  the  like  of 
which  he  had  never  heard  before,  and  it  seemed  to  him 
that  she  was  choking. 

As  fast  as  his  slow  materials  and  shaking  hands  would 
let  him,  he  lit  the  lamp  and  found  the  child  sitting  up, 
with  pale  lips  and  starting  eyes,  clawing  for  breath 
with  spasmodic  clutchings  of  the  pitiful  little  hands. 

He  took  her  up  in  his  arms,  with  an  instinct  of  pro- 
tection from  the  evil  he  could  not  comprehend.  The 


248  THE   LONG  ROAD 

little  body  straightened  now  and  again  with  a  violent 
jerk  and  that  dreadful  croak,  which  smote  his  heart  like 
a  hammer  each  time  it  came ;  yet,  frightsome  as  it  was, 
each  time  it  was  longer  of  coming  he  feared  lest  it 
should  not  come  again. 

He  tried  to  get  water  down  her  throat,  but  she  beat  it 
blindly  out  of  his  hands.  The  dreadful  appeal  of  the 
straining  blue  eyes  unnerved  him.  He  would  have 
cut  off  his  right  hand  to  give  her  breath,  but  this  that 
had  got  hold  of  her  was  beyond  him,  and  he  could  do 
nothing  but  stand  and  watch  the  unequal  fight  as  it 
dragged  slowly  to  its  end. 

He  clenched  his  useless  hands  till  the  nails  ran  into 
the  palms.  He  ground  his  teeth  in  agony.  His  lips  re- 
tracted, his  face  crumpled  up.  He  held  his  breath  and 
his  tortured  heart  in  suspense,  while  each  hard  round 
was  fought  out,  and  only  breathed  again  when  the 
little  sufferer  had  a  moment's  respite.  The  horses 
outside,  under  their  soaked  canvas  shelters,  stamped 
uneasily  as  though  aware  of  the  Presence.  The  rain 
beat  heavily  on  the  roof  and  poured  from  the  eaves 
in  a  monotonous  babble  of  melancholy  little  voices. 
Baby  Stepan  woke  up  and  joined  his  lusty  little  pipe 
to  the  unaccustomed  noise,  and  the  little  white  brother 
looked  solemnly  down  upon  it  all  from  his  corner  by 
the  holy  images. 

How  long  that  grim  struggle  against  overpowering 
odds  lasted,  Stepan  did  not  know.  Each  slow  moment 


THE  LONG  ROAD  249 

was  a  long-drawn  agony  to  him,-  for  life  and  death  were 
in  each  one. 

But  suddenly  the  rain,  which  had  never  ceased  for  a 
moment  for  three  days,  beat  a  last  wild  tattoo  on  the 
roof,  and  there  fell  a  great  silence.  Little  Stepan  rolled 
over  and  went  to  sleep.  The  horses  stopped  their 
restless  tramplings  as  though  surprised  at  the  sudden 
quiet,  and  stood  listening,  and  the  little  white  owl 
swelled  himself  to  double  his  usual  size  and  gazed  at 
his  little  sister  with  wide,  unwinking  eyes. 

Little  Katenka  croaked  no  more,  but  lay  white  and 
spent.  And  Stepan,  falling  on  his  knees,  felt  the  little 
cheek  cold  and  damp.  He  kissed  her  and  spoke  to  her, 
but  she  lay  quite  still.  With  the  great  fear  at  his  heart, 
he  clasped  her  hands  in  his.  They  were  very  cold. 
He  bent  his  forehead  to  her  lips.  But  no  breath 
came. 

Then  with  a  broken  sigh  he  lay  down  on  his  face  on 
the  floor  and  stretched  himself  in  his  agony,  for  he 
and  little  Stepan  and  the  little  white  brother  were  alone. 

It  was  a  silent  and  grim-faced  man  who  carried 
burdens  up  into  the  hills  next  day.  He  was  heavily 
weighted,  but  the  heaviest  part  of  his  load  was  not  that 
which  showed  most;  not  the  spade  which  was  slung 
at  his  back,  nor  the  jumping  child  in  its  pocket  above 
it,  nor  the  axe  in  his  belt,  nor  the  quiet  little  figure 
rolled  in  a  blanket  which  he  held  tight  to  his  sick  heart 
for  the  last  time. 


250  THE  LONG  ROAD 

He  climbed  gloomily  in  and  out  of  the  new  water- 
courses, and  pushed  steadily  on  over  the  soft  ground 
and  the  hard,  and  troubled  about  neither.  He 
was  taking  Katenka  to  her  mother,  he  and  little 
Stepan. 

He  buried  her  there  by  the  side  of  Katia,  and  buried 
her  deep,  and  piled  great  stones  above  her  to  keep  off 
the  wolves,  while  little  Stepan  gurgled  cheerfully  on  a 
heap  of  newly-turned  earth  hard  by. 

Then  he  knelt  and  prayed  strange  prayers  by  the 
two  piles  of  stones,  and  then  he  picked  up  little 
Stepan,  and  gave  him  food  to  comfort  his  insatiable 
little  stomach,  and  then  he  went  back  the  way  he  had 
come. 

The  loss  of  Katenka  decided  him  to  leave  little  Ste- 
pan in  safer  keeping  than  his  own  for  the  winter.  He 
thought  over  all  the  women  in  the  villages  through  which 
he  was  in  the  habit  of  travelling,  and  finally  settled  on 
one,  Elizabeth  Volskai'a,  who  lived  in  Zarm.  He  knew 
her  to  be  a  kind-hearted,  motherly  soul,  and  he  re- 
membered that  she  had  not  long  since  lost  a  child  of 
her  own,  and  he  thought  she  would  be  good  to  the 
motherless  one  for  sake  of  the  one  she  had  lost. 

He  journeyed  straight  to  that  village,  made  arrange- 
ments with  her,  and  his  last  sight  of  his  boy,  when  he 
drove  away,  was  of  him  jumping  in  Elizabeth  Vol- 
skai'a's  arms.,  and  clapping  and  crowing  at  sight  of  a 


THE  LONG  ROAD  251 

drove  of  little  pigs  which  were  squeaking  and  scrambling 
about  their  prostrate  mother  in  the  roadway. 

The  little  white  brother  he  took  with  him,  because 
little  Katenka  had  loved  him,  and  now  he  was  a  very 
lonely  man. 


CHAPTER  LII 

THAT  was  the  gloomiest  winter  he  had  ever  passed, 
gloomier  by  far  than  the  one  when  he  was  in  Yeniseisk 
and  Katia  was  in  Irkutsk.  For  then  if  his  heart  had 
its  fears,  it  also  had  its  greater  hopes.  And  now  — 

The  house  on  wheels  was  a  perpetual  reminder  of  the 
happy  times  which  could  never  be  again.  His  thoughts 
filled  it  with  memories  of  Katia  and  little  Katenka. 
How  very  happy  they  had  been  !  Katia  sitting  there  in 
the  open  doorway ;  little  Katenka  running  up,  breath- 
less and  excited,  with  her  arms  full  of  flowers. 
And  now  — 

Always  until  now  he  had  had  something  left  to  hope 
for. 

Now  —  There  was  his  little  Stepan,  it  is  true,  and 
there  was  —  ah,  yes  !  —  there  was  still  one  other  thing 
left  to  hope  for,  if  ever  the  chance  offered. 

It  was  not  very  clear  in  his  mind  yet,  that  other  thing 
that  had  to  be  done.  It  came  and  it  went.  Sometimes 
his  thoughts  ran  along  healthier  lines,  and  that  other 
idea  of  his  grew  vague  and  indefinite,  and  lay  in  his 
mind  rather  as  a  possibility  than  a  purpose.  Some- 
times the  purpose  gathered  strength  and  rode  him  hard, 

and  he  was  tempted  to  go  at   once   and   attempt   its 

252 


THE   LONG  ROAD  253 

accomplishment.  But  common  sense  as  a  rule  pre- 
vailed, and  he  jogged  soberly  on  his  way,  the  quietest, 
and  gloomiest,  and  —  since  his  requirements  were  small 
and  he  did  not  insist  on  large  profits  —  the  most  wel- 
come of  traders. 

But  those  winter  nights  when,  save  for  the  little 
white  brother,  he  lay  all  alone  in  his  wooden  house, 
with  the  horses  stamping  outside,  and  the  cold  north 
wind  piling  the  snow  into  mighty  drifts  all  round  them, 
were  very  long  and  very  trying  and  did  not  make  for 
good.  Ah !  strange  things  were  done  in  that  little 
wooden  house  in  those  lonely  night  watches,  even  though 
he  never  raised  a  finger  or  moved  a  limb,  and  the  little 
white  brother,  on  his  perch  by  the  holy  images,  watched 
it  all  with  sad  and  wondering  eyes. 

He  met  Peter  Krop  more  than  once,  and  the  two  men 
would  sit  by  the  hour  with  few  words  between  them  but 
much  sorrow.  For  the  shrewd  old  Jew  had  not  lived 
sixty-six  years  —  mostly  sad  ones  —  for  nothing,  and 
he  guessed  what  that  was  that  lay  deep  down  in  Stepan's 
heart.  But  Stepan  never  spoke  of  it,  and  he  would  not 
speak  of  it  himself,  lest  he  should  be  sorely  misjudging 
his  friend  and  perhaps  turning  his  feet  to  the  very  path 
he  feared  for  them. 

"Time  heals  all  wounds,  Stepan  Ivanovitch,"  he 
said  gravely,  when  they  were  parting  one  time.  "And 
you  still  have  your  little  Stepan  left.  A  man-child  is 
a  great  gift  and  a  great  possession." 


254  THE   LONG  ROAD 

In  the  spring  Stepan  turned  his  horses'  heads  tow- 
ard Zarm,  and  wondered  if  his  boy  would  know  him 
again. 

But  Elizabeth  Volskai'a  met  him  with  bowed  head  and 
streaming  eyes  and  broken  voice. 

Little  Stepan  had  died  two  months  before  of  convul- 
sions brought  on  by  teething. 

Stepan  listened  quietly  to  her  story,  gave  her  money 
for  her  care  of  the  boy  and  her  sorrow  at  his  loss,  and 
went  on  his  way  more  gloomily  than  ever.  And  the 
dark  thoughts  that  had  lurked  so  long  in  the  shadowy 
corners  of  his  mind  waxed  stronger  and  darker  than  ever. 

Since  Katia  went  the  children  had  stood  between  him 
and  much  —  and  now  the  children  were  gone,  and  he 
stood  face  to  face  with  that  dreadful  thing  that  filled 
all  the  place  they  had  left. 

To  outward  appearance  he  was  much  as  he  had  been 
since  Katia  died.  Somewhat  gloomier  and  harder  of 
face,  maybe,  but  always  quiet  and  thoughtful,  and  un- 
exacting  in  his  dealings. 

And  now,  too,  he  went  silently  along  the  roads  and 
over  the  steppes.  The  bells  upon  the  arch  of  his  shaft 
horse  mocked  him  with  their  merry  chiming.  They  sang 
no  more  after  the  day  he  heard  of  little  Stepan's  death. 
And  since  they  had  been  dear  to  Katenka,  he  journeyed 
up  into  the  hills  beyond  Chernsk  and  buried  them 
there  in  her  grave,  —  the  deep-toned  crimson  in  the 
middle  and  the  silvery  tinklers  at  the  sides,  just  as  they 


THE  LONG  ROAD  255 

used  to  swing  in  the  arch,  —  and  he  liked  to  think  of 
them  lying  there,  by  the  side  of  her  who  had  loved  them 
so  well. 

And  now,  when  he  sat  by  his  lonely  fire  of  a  night, 
and  gazed  into  the  ashes,  he  laughed  grimly  to  himself 
at  times,  as  though  his  thoughts  pleased  him.  And  the 
little  white  brother,  on  his  perch  by  the  holy  images, 
ruffled  himself  distressfully  as  though  there  was  some- 
thing about  that  did  not  please  him. 

One  night  a  wanderer  begged  permission  to  sit  by 
the  fire  with  him,  and  Stepan  gave  him  food  and  told 
him  to  sit  as  long  as  he  would.  Then  he  sat  down  him- 
self and  leaned  forward  and  looked  into  the  fire,  and 
forgot  all  about  his  visitor.  And  now  and  again  he 
laughed  a  laugh  that  sent  cold  chills  running  down  the 
other's  back,  though  the  front  of  him  was  roasting  be- 
cause he  did  not  dare  to  move.  But  at  last  the  new- 
comer could  stand  it  no  longer  and  he  crept  quietly 
away,  with  backward  glances  at  the  man  before  the  fire, 
to  make  sure  that  he  was  not  following  him.  He  slept 
under  a  tree  that  night,  as  he  was  in  the  habit  of  doing, 
and  thanked  whatever  gods  he  served  when  he  woke  in 
the  morning  and  found  himself  still  alive. 

But  the  village  folk,  with  whom  Stepan's  dealings 
were,  saw  only  that  his  face  grew  ever  more  sombre, 
and  that  he  spoke  less,  and  was  less  and  less  exacting 
in  his  bargains.  His  requirements  were  very  small, 
his  desire  to  amass  smaller  still.  There  was  only  one 


256  THE   LONG   ROAD 

thing  he  wanted,  only  one  final  satisfaction  life  could 
yield  him,  and  for  that  he  could  wait  till  the  time  came. 

Had  he  been  free  to  wander  in  Irkutsk,  as  he  was 
free  to  wander  elsewhere,  he  would  have  been  able  to 
see  his  way  much  more  clearly.  As  it  was,  he  could  only 
travel  to  and  fro  along  the  marches,  biding  his  time, 
and  with  but  one  fear  —  lest  his  victim  should  die  other 
death  than  the  one  he  allotted  him  over  the  fire  of  a 
night. 

Whenever  he  met  trader  or  traveller  from  Irkutsk 
city,  he  questioned  him  quietly,  with  no  show  of  undue 
interest,  and  kept  himself  fairly  informed  as  to  what 
went  on  there. 

Peter  Krop,  when  they  met,  read  him  like  a  book, 
and  saw  clearly  whither  he  was  tending,  but  was  power- 
less to  alter  his  route.  He  did  his  best.  He  offered  to 
join  forces  with  him  and  journey  in  company ;  alleged, 
even  pleaded,  old  age  as  good  reason  for  such  a  com- 
bination; and  urged  the  obvious  advantages  to  the 
younger  partner.  For  old  Peter  had  made  much  money 
and  was  still  always  making,  and  he  had  not  a  friend  in 
the  world  except  Stepan. 

But  Stepan  would  not  hear  of  it.  He  had  more  money 
than  he  required,  and  he  also  was  always  making  more 
than  enough  to  live  on.  And  the  only  certain  thing 
about  the  future  was  that  he  must  live  it  alone.  For 
somewhere  in  it  was  a  wild,  flaming  glory,  a  mad  satis- 
fying fury,  a  roaring,  rushing  outbreak  of  blasting  red 


THE   LONG  ROAD  257 

and  yellow  fires  such  as  he  saw  in  his  mind  in  the  ashes 
of  a  night.  And  when  it  came,  all  that  he  had  suffered, 
and  all  that  he  had  held  in  check  so  long,  would  burst 
the  barriers  and  leap  at  the  throat  of  the  cause  of  it  all, 
and  he  would  once  more  hew  and  thrust  and  smash, 
and  feel  the  lust  of  death  as  he  had  felt  it  when  he 
slaughtered  the  bloody  fangs  in  the  hills. 

And  him  he  would  reserve  till  the  last,  —  Paschkin, 
the  knouter  of  women ;  Paschkin,  the  breaker  of  lives ; 
Paschkin  who  feared  no  man;  Paschkin  the  almighty. 
He  would  beat  him  to  his  knees,  and  shout  with  laughter 
at  sight  of  the  terror  in  his  face  —  Paschkin  before 
whom  all  men  quailed. 

And  then  he  would  deal  him  one  blow  for  little  Stepan, 
and  one  for  Katenka,  and  one  final  blow  for  Katia. 
Oh,  the  mad  joy  of  it !    The.  keen,  fierce  thrill  of  it,  - 
through  legs  and  loins  and  arms,  right  up  into  his  brain, 
till  his  head  felt  like  to  burst  into  a  thousand  pieces,  — 
as  the  thirsty  steel  bit  deep,  through  shrinking  flesh  and 
crunching  bone,  right  down  to  the  life,  and  Paschkin 
would  trouble  the  world  no  more. 

And  as  for  himself,  what  matter?  He  would  die 
a  thousand  deaths  under  the  knout,  and  laugh  to  scorn 
the  dangling  ribbons  of  his  flesh,  so  long  as  he  had  lived 
that  mighty  minute  when  Paschkin  lay  bare  to  his  axe. 

But  no  man  must  suffer  with  him,  or  for  him,  or 
through  him.  His  alone  had  been  the  bitterness  of  the 
tyrant's  caprice;  his  alone  should  be  the  vengeance, 


258  THE   LONG  ROAD 

his  alone  the  penalty.  And  so  he  would  not  hearken 
to  Peter  Krop's  offers,  and  Peter  went  on  his  lonely 
way  expectant  always  of  calamity. 

And  the  little  white  brother  was  very  mournful  in 
these  days  and  hardly  ever  left  his  perch.  Stepan  fed 
him  and  soothed  him  as  little  Katenka  used  to  do, 
because  she  had  loved  him.  But,  at  times,  he  found 
the  little  bird's  great  eyes  fixed  upon  him  with  so  know- 
ing a  look  that  he  felt  as  if  the  little  brother  knew  all 
that  was  in  him,  and  he  was  glad  the  little  brother  could 
not  speak. 


CHAPTER  LIII 

THE  months  dragged  on,  and  another  winter  passed, 
and  to  all  outward  observation  no  quieter  traveller 
crossed  the  steppes  than  Stepan  Iline  in  his  sun-blistered, 
weather-beaten  house  on  wheels. 

Not  a  woman  in  all  the  villages  but  was  glad  to  see 
him,  though  his  face  was  gloomy  beyond  the  ordinary 
run  of  men,  and  he  had  few  words  and  no  tattle. 

Not  a  child  was  afraid  of  him  or  ever  had  a  rough 
word  from  him.  Indeed,  he  had  little  notice  for  them, 
even  when  they  clustered  overcuriously  round  his 
house  and  got  in  his  way ;  not  more  than  a  tightening  of 
the  lips  and  a  stiffening  of  the  face. 

But  inside  the  house  on  wheels  was  a  long  gun  kept 
always  bright  and  clean  and  well  oiled,  and  always 
loaded  and  ready ;  and  a  spear  that  had  drunk  blood, 
and  gleamed  viciously  in  the  lamplight  as  though  thirst- 
ing for  more;  and  an  axe  with  an  edge  like  a  knife. 
And  sometimes,  of  a  winter's  night,  he  would  heft  the 
axe,  as  he  touched  up  the  edge  with  his  stone,  and  thrill 
with  the  feel  of  it  as  it  swung  in  his  strong  brown  hand. 
And  when  he  did  that,  the  little  white  brother,  up  on 
his  perch  by  the  holy  images,  always  gave  a  jump, 
and  a  flutter,  and  thereafter  watched  him  gloomily. 

259 


26o  THE   LONG  ROAD 

The  gun  was  good,  and  the  spear  was  good,  but  the 
axe  was  the  weapon  Stepan  loved.  Its  bite  was  so 
much  closer  and  more  intimate.  You  could  feel  the 
death  in  it  as  it  shore  through  the  life  that  had  to  go,  feel 
it  close,  in  your  very  hand  as  it  were,  a  very  part  of  your 
very  self.  Yes,  it  should  be  with  the  axe  that  he  would 
deal  the  blows  that  paid  for  little  Stepan  and  for  Katenka 
and  for  Katia.  And  then  he  would  pass  his  stone  lov- 
ingly along  the  hungry,  curving  beak  of  it,  though  it 
was  already  as  true  and  keen  as  cunning  hand  and  bitter 
heart  could  make  it.  For  the  life  that  had  to  go  be- 
fore it  was  Paschkin's.  And  the  lives  that  it  had  to  take 
toll  for  were  Baby  Stepan's,  and  little  Katenka's,  and 
Katia's. 

Time  ran  on.  The  summer  suns  blistered  the  paint 
on  the  house  on  wheels  till  it  chipped  and  fell  off.  The 
autumn  rains  and  winter  winds  and  snows  beat  upon 
it,  the  dust  and  the  mud  clung  to  it,  till  at  last  it  became 
all  one  colour  and  that  a  dingy  gray,  the  colour  of  the 
muddy  roads. 

"  But  why  don't  you  paint  your  house  again,  Stepan 
Ivanovitch?"  they  asked  him  at  times;  and  all  that  he 
answered  was,  "Why  should  I  paint  it?" 

For  at  any  time  that  might  happen  which  would  end 
his  wanderings,  and  another's,  and  he  lived  only  in  the 
hope  of  it. 

Summers  and  winters  passed,  and  still  he  wandered 
quietly  in  and  out  among  them,  —  waiting,  waiting, 


THE  LONG  ROAD  261 

waiting,  for  the  fulfilment  of  his  heart's  only  desire,  his 
only  companion  the  little  white  owl. 

His  mind,  intent  only  upon  that  one  hope,  and  brood- 
ing over  it  night  and  day,  became  somewhat  closed  to 
outward  things.  He  moved  and  spoke  and  acted  in  a 
way  that  showed  his  thoughts  were  busy  with  other 
matters.  But  the  little  white  brother  never  suffered 
any  neglect,  for  little  Katenka  had  loved  him. 

The  village  folk  said  that  he  was  ageing  quickly 
since  his  wife  died.  Some  said  that  his  mind  was  fail- 
ing. At  all  times  now  he  was  very  deliberate  in  his 
movements.  What  need  for  haste  in  a  man  who  was 
only  waiting  for  one  thing,  the  coming  of  which  he 
could  not  hasten? 

And  he  was  very  silent.  He  said  just  what  had  to 
be  said  and  no  more.  Of  a  night,  by  the  inn  stove, 
while  others  talked  and  laughed,  and  drank  more  than 
was  good  for  them,  he  would  sit,  neither  speaking  nor 
listening,  seeing  things  that  were  very  far  off,  in  a  way 
that  was  somewhat  disconcerting  to  strangers,  though 
those  who  knew  him  and  his  story  were  not  troubled 
at  it. 

In  any  one  who  came  from  Irkutsk  city,  or  could 
give  him  news  of  it,  he  was  more  interested.  He  would 
occasionally  even  question  them  as  to  what  they  knew 
of  Paschkin  and  his  doings.  But  quietly  always,  and 
not  in  such  a  way  as  to  excite  any  suspicion  of  undue 
interest  on  his  part. 


262  THE  LONG  ROAD 

He  traded  still,  but  more  because  it  was  expected  of 
him  than  from  the  desire  of  gain.  The  women  in  all 
the  villages  he  touched  would  have  felt  a  gap  in  their 
lives,  and  a  considerable  difference  in  their  minute 
treasuries,  if  his  rounds  had  ceased,  for  he  gave  them 
most  astonishing  bargains.  They  rejoiced  in  him,  and 
he  would  not  disappoint  them. 

Then,  too,  his  trading  all  unconsciously  kept  his  mind 
just  sufficiently  occupied  to  retain  its  balance.  He 
never  reasoned  about  it,  but  he  felt  that  it  was  better 
to  have  something  to  do  besides  brooding  constantly 
on  the  past  and  the  future. 

Time  enough  he  had  for  brooding  indeed.  Perhaps 
his  purpose  drew  strength  from  occasional  diversion 
from  itself,  perhaps  he  pondered  it  the  more  deeply 
and  cogently  when  he  returned  from  the  slight  inter- 
course he  maintained  with  his  fellows.  If  he  had 
retired  into  the  wilderness,  as  he  had  felt  tempted  to 
do,  doubtless  his  wits  would  have  become  addled  like 
Gnut's,  in  his  lonely  hut  on  the  river  bank. 

But  his  purpose  never  failed.  His  gun  was  always 
oiled  and  loaded.  His  spear  and  his  axe  were  always 
edged  for  slaughter.  The  one  and  only  fear  he  had 
was  lest  his  enemy  should  escape  by  some  other  death 
than  the  one  he  held  for  him. 

And,  since  all  things  come  to  him  who  waits  long 
enough,  Stepan  Iline's  time  came  at  last. 

The  waiting  had  been  long.     Full  seven  years  had 


THE  LONG  ROAD  263 

passed  since  Katia  died,  but  the  bitterness  of  his  hatred 
was  in  no  wise  blunted.  Life  for  life,  blood  for  blood 
-  nothing  less  would  satisfy  him. 

It  was  in  the  town  of  Krasnoiarsk  that  he  heard  the 
news. 

"Great  times !"  said  the  host  of  his  little  inn  cheer- 
fully, when  Stepan  turned  in  to  warm  his  half-frozen 
feet  at  the  stove,  after  seeing  to  his  horses  and  before 
leaving  his  papers  with  the  police. 

"Why  then,  Philip  Alexandra vitch?"  asked  Stepan, 
with  small  interest. 

"If  you  had  arrived  a  day  sooner,  you  would  have 
seen  them.  Governor  Tatukof  arrived  first  last  night, 
and  very  soon  after  him  came  his  Excellency  from 
Irkutsk,  the  great  Paschkin.  Tatukof  had  ten  Cos- 
sacks and  Paschkin  had  fifty." 

Stepan  was  listening  now  with  every  nerve  on  the 
strain,  but  he  sat  quietly,  though  the  blood  was  jump- 
ing in  his  veins  and  drumming  in  his  ears  so  that  for  a 
minute  or  two  he  could  hardly  hear  the  other  speaking. 

"They  all  went  off  this  morning.  Tatukof  back  to 
Minusinsk,  and  Paschkin  for  St.  Petersburg.  They 
say  the  Empress  wants  him  for  her  right-hand  man. 
They'll  have  bad  times  there  when  Paschkin  is  right- 
hand  man  to  the  Empress.  Ah,  God,  yes !  He  was 
wise  to  bring  fifty  Cossacks  with  him  through  his  own 
country.  There's  many  a  man  there  would  give  his 
head  to  break  Paschkin's,  from  all  accounts.  They 


264  THE   LONG  ROAD 

say  he  is  the  Devil.  A  bold  man,  too.  His  Cossacks 
go  back  to-morrow,  and  he  went  on  this  morning  in 
two  sledges,  and  they  travelled,  I  can  tell  you.  The 
Empress  must  want  him  badly,  he  was  in  such  a  hurry. 
What,  you  are  off  again?  Do  you  not  stay  the  night, 
then?" 

"That  depends,"  said  Stepan,  controlling  himself 
mightily.  "  I  have  a  call  to  make.  If  it  is  not  success- 
ful I  may  have  to  go  on  at  once  to  Abrova,"  —  ten  miles 
away  on  the  road  to  Minusinsk,  on  the  same  side  of  the 
river  as  Paschkin  was  on,  —  "and  as  I  must  travel  fast 
to  catch  my  man,  I  will  leave  my  house  with  you.  You 
must  keep  it  safe  till  I  return,  Philip  Alexandrovitch, 
and  see  to  my  little  white  owl.  If  my  man  has  left 
Abrova,  I  must  follow  him." 

"  Da  !  You  travellers  !  Such  bustle  always.  You 
have  not  time  to  eat  or  drink." 

But  Stepan  was  halfway  down  the  street,  thinking 
as  collectedly  as  the  jumping  blood  in  his  head  would 
let  him. 

An  hour  later  he  was  speeding  as  fast  as  three  horses 
could  carry  him  along  the  Tomsk  road.  He  had  left 
the  town,  indeed,  as  though  for  Abrova,  but  once  clear 
of  it  had  made  a  circuit  across  country,  over  the  snow, 
till  he  struck  the  road  along  which  Governor  Paschkin 
had  travelled  only  that  morning. 

He  calculated  that  Paschkin  had  at  least  twelve 
hours'  start  of  him.  He  would  have  the  pick  of  the 


THE   LONG  ROAD  265 

horses  at  every  town  or  village.  The  chances  of  catch- 
ing him  were  small,  unless  by  the  accidents  of  the  road, 
but  it  was  in  those  chances  of  the  road  that  his  hope 
lay.  It  might  be  days,  it  might  be  weeks,  before  he 
caught  him.  He  was  prepared  to  follow  if  it  took  a 
year. 

The  hot  blood  that  raced  in  his  veins  lifted  him  above 
any  feeling  of  cold  or  weariness.  For  seven  long  years 
he  had  waited,  round  the  corner  of  a  mighty  hope  as  it 
were,  and  at  last  that  for  which  he  had  waited  lay  in 
the  open  before  him.  And  so  the  blood  raced  in  his 
veins  and  galloped  in  his  head,  and  he  chirruped  and 
called  to  his  horses,  and  felt  like  shouting  aloud  for 
joy  of  the  hour  that  was  coming,  —  that  must  come, 
he  said  to  himself,  —  that  should  come,  no  matter  what 
stood  between,  now  that  the  quarry  had  broken  cover 
at  last. 

In  these  few  short  hours,  since  he  heard  of  Paschkin's 
journey,  he  had  lived  more  vitally  than  in  all  the  last 
seven  years. 

No  one  would  have  believed  that  this  keen-faced 
man  urging  his  horses  along  the  snowy  road  was  the 
same  who  plodded  wearily  into  Krasnoiarsk  a  few  hours 
before. 

Nor  was  it. 

That  was  Stepan  Iline,  the  downtrodden  of  Paschkin. 

This  was  Stepan  Iline,  the  Avenger  of  Blood,  on 
Paschkin's  track. 


266  THE   LONG  ROAD 

Two  very  different  men  and  yet  at  heart  the 
same. 

It  was  the  change  which  takes  place  in  the  beast  of 
prey,  lying  listless,  with  flexed  limbs  and  half-closed 
eyes,  when  suddenly  his  quarry  passes,  and  in  a  moment 
he  is  up  and  after  it,  every  sinew  strung,  and  death  in 
the  pinching  of  his  tight-closed  face. 

In  that  short  hour  at  Krasnoiarsk  he  had  thought 
and  acted  quickly.  The  sledge  and  horses  he  had  hired 
for  a  journey  to  Abrova,  but  had  left  their  full  value 
with  the  owner  as  pledge  of  their  safe  return.  Their 
return  at  all  was  more  than  doubtful,  but  he  would 
have  no  man  suffer  through  him.  He  had  bought 
provisions  for  many  days,  and  by  his  side  in  the  sledge 
lay  his  gun,  his  spear,  and  the  axe  with  which  he  in- 
tended to  deal  Paschkin  those  three  last  satisfying 
blows,  one  for  Baby  Stepan,  one  for  little  Katenka,  and 
one  for  Katia. 

That  Paschkin  travelled  with  two  sledges,  which 
meant  attendants,  did  not  trouble  him  in  the  least.  If 
the  choice  were  given  him,  he  would  sooner  fight  his 
way  to  his  man,  inch  by  inch,  with  the  other  watching 
his  coming  and  knowing  what  it  meant,  than  find  him 
lying  helpless  and  open  to  his  assault.  He  wanted  to 
feel  that  mighty  thrill  of  battle  once  again,  with  the 
death  of  Paschkin  as  its  climax.  And  for  these  things 
he  was  ready  to  give  his  life.  Ready  ?  —  ay,  eager, 
keen-set,  and  as  careless  of  consequences  as  a  great 


THE   LONG  ROAD  267 

tusked  boar  of  the  woods ;  for,  once  he  had  settled  with 
Paschkin,  he  had  nothing  left  to  live  for. 

The  chase,  barring  much-to-be-desired  accidents  in 
front,  might,  he  knew,  be  a  long  one.  Two  thousand 
miles  of  bad  road  lay  between  Paschkin  and  the  Urals, 
and  anywhere  on  that  road  the  end  might  come,  —  the 
end  of  the  chase,  and  the  end  of  Paschkin,  and  maybe 
the  end  of  himself. 

And  Stepan  Iline  drove  his  horses  joyously. 


CHAPTER  LIV 

PASCHKIN  had  everything  in  his  favour  and  all  the 
advantages  on  his  side.  The  pick  of  the  horses  was  a 
great  thing.  Stepan,  who  had  not  laughed  for  years, 
laughed  aloud  as  the  idea  occurred  to  him  that,  being 
just  twelve  hours  behind,  it  was  possible  that  he  might 
be  able  to  pick  up  Paschkin's  discarded  steeds.  And 
then  he  fell  gloomy  at  the  second  thought  that,  as 
far  as  was  possible,  he  would  do  well,  maybe,  to 
avoid  the  towns  and  villages  and  skirt  them  over  the 
snow. 

His  papers,  indeed,  gave  him  freedom  of  travel  within 
the  bounds  of  Siberia,  except  in  Irkutsk,  and  only 
bound  him  to  perpetual  progress,  and  truly  he  would 
be  progressing  as  never  before.  But  any  quick-witted 
official,  with  Paschkin's  immediate  visit  in  his  mind, 
might  well,  at  sight  of  Paschkin's  harsh  decree  on  his 
papers,  put  two  and  two  together  and  fathom  his  inten- 
tions. Yes,  it  would  be  best  to  avoid  the  police  as  far 
as  possible.  And  that  meant  slower  speed  and  longer 
travel. 

On  the  other  hand,  in  spite  of  his  impressive  haste, 
Paschkin  was  not  likely  to  travel  himself  to  death. 

For  how  should  he  know  that  death  was  on  his  track, 
268 


THE   LONG   ROAD  269 

and  that  every  moment  he  lost  brought  it  that  much 
nearer  to  him  ? 

He  would  halt  each  night  to  eat  and  sleep.  There 
was  a  chance  of  minimising  disadvantages  and  levelling 
odds  somewhat  there,  for  he  himself  felt  as  though  he 
could  rest  no  more  till  this  matter  was  ended  and  done 
with.  Then  he  would  sleep  his  fill  —  when  Paschkin 
slept  too. 

And  then  there  were  the  accidents  of  the  road  which 
might,  indeed,  quite  as  likely  befall  himself  as  Paschkin, 
but  in  which  he  still  reposed  a  certain  hope. 

So,  day  after  day,  he  sped  along,  with  the  dogged 
persistence  of  a  bloodhound,  and  the  fell  concentration 
of  a  starving  wolf  on  a  hot  trail. 

The  north  wind,  keen  as  a  knife  from  its  thousand 
leagues  of  travel  over  the  icy  wastes,  bit  him  to  the  bone. 
The  snow  whirled  round  him  and  plastered  him  into 
the  semblance  of  a  snow  man,  till  at  times  he  could  not 
open  his  eyes  and  had  to  let  his  horses  choose  their  own 
path.  But  cold  and  snow  and  the  deadly  desolations 
of  the  steppes  were  nothing  to  him,  since  his  heart  was 
on  fire  and  his  brain  on  the  boil. 

He  found  accommodation  at  night  where  he  could, — 
in  outlying  cottages,  where  also  he  renewed  his  supplies 
for  himself  and  his  horses,  —  and  many  times,  when  no 
shelter  offered,  he  camped  out  under  the  trees  and  built 
huge  fires,  and  suffered  not  much  in  spite  of  the  cold, 
because  of  the  fiercer  fire  within. 


270  THE   LONG  ROAD 

He  ate  at  night  and  as  he  went  along,  but  only  because 
one  must  eat  to  live,  and  grudged  every  moment  when 
he  was  not  on  the  road.  Thought  for  his  horses  brought 
him  to  a  halt  many  times  when  his  own  will  would  have 
urged  him  on.  The  horses  were  wearing  out  in  spite 
of  all  his  care,  but  he  renewed  them,  one  after  another, 
by  sale  and  barter,  as  necessity  compelled  and  oppor- 
tunity offered ;  and  since  money  was  of  small  account 
with  him  compared  with  the  compassing  of  his  ends, 
those  with  whom  he  dealt  had  no  reason  to  complain  of 
their  bargains. 

He  heard  from  time  to  time  reports  of  Paschkin's 
passage,  always  just  ahead  of  him  and  always  ^oing  at 
speed.  He  had  no  fear  of  missing  him,  for  I  here  was 
but  one  safe  road  into  Russia,  and  Paschkin  had  too 
much  at  stake  to  take  cross-country  risks. 

Then  a  strange  slice  of  luck  befell  him,  as  once  before 
in  time  of  need. 

He  was  gliding  swiftly  along  very  early  one  morning, 
and  the  monotonous  beat  of  the  horses'  feet,  and  the 
smooth  hiss  of  the  runners,  and  the  boundless  desolation 
of  the  white  waste  all  round,  with  the  darker  sky  shut- 
ting down  on  it  at  the  edges,  had  made  him  sleepy 
in  spite  of  the  fact  that  he  had  only  just  taken  the 
road.  His  chin  was  on  his  chest  and  he  saw  noth- 
ing, when  suddenly  his  team  shied  violently  and  he 
drew  rein. 

By  the  roadside  lay  a  sledge  turned  completely  upside 


THE   LONG   ROAD  271 

down,  with  a  couple  of  horses  shivering  patiently  along- 
side. 

Stepan  looked  round  in  surprise  for  the  owner,  and, 
seeing  none,  leaped  out  and  went  up  to  the  sledge, 
while  his  steaming  horses  looked  round  at  the  starve- 
lings in  surprise,  and  the  latter  whinnied  joyfully  at 
sight  of  their  kind. 

He  turned  the  sledge  over  and  found  the  owner  un- 
derneath, dead,  frozen  stiff.  From  his  face  he  thought 
it  likely  he  was  drunk  when  the  catastrophe  occurred, 
and  had  frozen  where  he  lay.  There  was  nothing  to 
show  what  had  happened,  except  that  the  rear  corner 
of  the  sledge  was  smashed  in  as  from  a  heavy  blow. 
As  a  matter  of  fact,  Paschkin's  driver,  the  night 
before,  rinding  the  drunkard  blocking  the  road,  and 
failing  to  rouse  him  to  a  sense  of  his  duty  by  shout- 
ing, had  cannoned  him  neatly  out  of  the  way,  and 
Paschkin  had  laughed  hoarsely  and  promised  his  man 
an  extra  drink  on  the  strength  of  his  performance. 

Stepan  was  feeling  inside  the  dead  man's  clothes  for 
his  papers,  when  an  idea  shot  through  his  mind  which 
made  his  eyes  flash  hopefully. 

He  found  the  papers  and  a  belt  of  money.  He 
hesitated  at  the  latter,  but  finally  strapped  it  round  his 
own  waist.  He  doubted  if  it  would  fall  into  honester 
hands  than  his  own.  From  the  papers  he  would  learn 
who  the  man  was,  and,  if  opportunity  offered,  the  money 
should  be  sent  to  its  rightful  owner.  For  the  papers 


272  THE   LONG   ROAD 

he  had  a  use  of  his  own.  They  would  shorten  his 
journey  and  bring  him  the  quicker  to  Paschkin. 

He  learned  from  the  papers  that  the  man  was  one 
Ignat  Festal  from  Orkaorsk,  away  down  in  the  south  of 
Tomsk.  He  had  been  journeying  evidently  the  same 
way  as  himself.  For  the  moment  the  idea  occurred  to 
him  of  leaving  his  own  papers  on  the  dead  man  and 
changing  names  with  him.  But  there  were  things  to 
be  said  on  both  sides  of  that  question,  and  he  could 
not  wait  to  follow  them  out  to  their  possible  ends.  He 
stuffed  the  papers  into  his  breast,  dragged  the  dead 
man's  sledge  off  the  road,  laid  him  in  it,  and  covered 
him  and  it  with  snow.  Then  he  loosed  the  shivering 
horses  and  tied  them  behind  his  own  sledge,  and  set 
off  again  at  speed  to  make  up  for  lost  time. 

Now  his  way  was  clearer.  As  Ignat  Festal  he  would 
drive  boldly  into  the  next  village,  and  there  would  be  no 
more  time  wasted  going  round  to  avoid  it.  As  Ignat 
Festal  he  could  follow  Paschkin  without  exciting  the 
suspicion  of  the  most  wide-awake  official.  Ignat 
Festal,  living,  might  or  might  not  have  been  a  good  and 
useful  citizen,  but  in  his  death  he  served  another  as  he 
never  could  have  served  him  in  his  life.  Paschkin's 
driver's  humour  of  the  previous  night  seemed  like  to 
turn  out  none  too  prosperously  for  his  master. 

For  the  sake  of  the  strange  horses,  Stepan  made  an 
early  halt  that  day.  He  exchanged  the  newcomers' 
gear  for  rope  halters,  and  soon  after  dark  drove  into  a 


THE  LONG  ROAD  273 

good-sized  village  and  sought  accommodation  at  the 
inn. 

He  was  Ignat  Festal  of  Orkaorsk,  travelling  in  the 
horse  line  to  Tobolsk.  His  Excellency,  Governor 
Paschkin,  had  passed  through  early  that  morning,  and 
the  landlord  was  very  full  of  the  great  man,  of  whom 
he  had  indeed  caught  only  a  glimpse,  but  quite  enough 
to  provide  him  with  talk  for  many  days. 

"The  Empress  has  sent  for  him,  they  say,  to  keep  the 
Don  Cossacks  in  order.  Da  !  It  is  good  to  be  a  strong 
man  and  to  be  sent  for  by  the  Empress.  They  say  he 
is  the  Devil  himself,  and  that  is  the  kind  of  master 
those  Cossacks  need,  for,  see  you,  they  are  devils  too. 
Horses  ?  Yes,  surely.  One  is  always  open  to  a  deal  if 
there  is  anything  in  it.  Which  do  you  want  to  sell?" 

Stepan  made  a  very  early  start  next  morning  and  was 
glad  to  get  safely  away. 

There  was  another  trader  at  the  inn,  one  of  those 
industrious  busybodies  who  knows  everybody's  business 
better  than  his  own.  As  soon  as  he  heard  the  name 
Festal  he  asked:  "Any  relation  of  Ignat  Festal  of 
Orkaorsk?  I  have  met  him." 

"  Cousin,"  said  Stepan,  briefly. 

"And  where  is  the  good  Ignat  now?" 

"He  is  behind,"  said  Stepan,  with  a  jerk  of  the 
head. 

"You  do  not  favour  him.     He  is  round  as  a  tub,  with 

a  face  like  a  winter  sun.     You  are  thin  as  a  pole  and 
T 


274  THE  LONG  ROAD 

your  face  is  like  a  hawk's,"  and  the  knowing  one  laughed 
at  his  blunt  wit.  "Your  father  was  a  careful  man,  I 
bet." 

"He  was  a  careful  man." 

"If  the  jovial  Ignat  favoured  your,  side  of  the  house 
a  trifle  more,  he  would  be  none  the  worse.  Not  too  much, 
but  a  trifle.  Last  time  I  saw  him  he  was  drunk,  and  I 
said  to  him,  'Ignat,  my  friend,'  I  said,  'sometime  you'll 
take  an  overload  of  vodka  and  you'll  be  picked  up  by 
the  roadside  frozen  as  stiff  as  a  dead  horse,'  and  that 
frightened  him  so  that  he  ordered  more  vodka  and 
got  drunker  still  at  thought  of  it.  You  are  going  to 
Tobolsk?" 

Stepan  nodded. 

"We  might  travel  together.  Company  is  good 
across  the  great  steppe.  It  is  a  hard  winter,  and  they 
say  the  wolves  are  very  hungry  out  there.  I  met  a 
traveller  who  had  had  a  race  with  them  and  escaped 
by  the  skin  of  his  teeth.  He,  too,  needed  much  vokda 
before  he  got  the  taste  of  them  out  of  his  mouth.  Land- 
lord, another  glass.  And  you?"  But  Stepan  shook 
his  head.  "He  swore  he  would  never  cross  the  steppe 
alone  in  winter  again  if  he  had  to  wait  a  week  for 
company.  We  will  go  together." 

"I  travel  quickly,"  said  Stepan.  "There  is  a  man 
waiting  for  me  over  there  and  I  must  not  disappoint 
him." 

"The  quicker  the  better  across  the  steppe,"  said  the 


THE  LONG  ROAD  275 

other,  "  especially  when  the  wolves  are  out.  I  will 
travel  quickly,  too.  When  do  you  start?" 

"  At  daylight." 

"Da!  That  is  early,"  and  he  looked  doubtfully 
across  at  the  tense  dark  face  and  smouldering  eyes. 

And  "bozhe-moi!"  he  said  to  the  landlord  next 
morning,  when  he  heard  that  Stepan  was  already  on 
his  way,  "I  am  not  sure  but  what  I  would  as  soon 
travel  with  the  wolves.  That  man  is  mad." 

And  the  landlord  agreed  that  there  was  something 
queer  about  him;  but  he  undoubtedly  knew  a  good 
horse  when  he  saw  one  and  was  a  free  hand  at  a  bargain. 


CHAPTER  LV 

STERN  chase,  long  chase ;  but  even  the  longest  must 
end  at  last  one  way  or  the  other. 

For  fifteen  days  Stepan  Iline  followed  Paschkin  over 
the  snowy  wastes,  straining  his  own  powers  of  endur- 
ance and  urging  and  husbanding  his  horses'  to  the 
utmost.  At  times  he  gained  on  him  slightly  and  at  times 
he  lost.  For  Paschkin  held  the  trumps  as  regards 
relays  of  horses,  and  though  fear  had  no  part  in  the 
composition  of  his  spur,  —  since  he  was  unconscious 
of  pursuit,  —  yet  he  was  urged  to  speed  by  motives 
little  less  worthy,  the  craving  for  power  and  personal 
advancement. 

The  court  was  a  hotbed  of  intrigue.  The  Empress 
had  sent  for  him.  Every  minute,  until  he  arrived  and 
grasped  the  offered  reins  in  his  own  strong  hands,  was 
big  with  possibilities  of  reverse.  And  so  he  whirled 
across  the  snowy  plains,  and  floundered  through  the 
drifts,  and  bumped  over  the  rocks,  regardless  of  every- 
thing but  one,  —  that  the  minutes  flew  faster  than  he, 
and  that  any  one  of  them  might  be  his  undoing. 

Toward  the  end  of  the  time,  since  Pestal's  papers 
allowed  him  to  keep  the  road,  Stepan  found  himself 

steadily  gaining  ground. 

276 


THE  LONG  ROAD  277 

Paschkin  travelled  faster,  but  Iline  travelled  longer, 
and  allowed  himself  no  more  rest  than  Nature  absolutely 
insisted  on. 

Paschkin's  bold  eyes  saw  a  mighty  future  dancing 
before  him  on  the  endless  white  wastes.  Iline's  fiery 
caverns  saw  no  farther  than  Paschkin,  lying  shorn  of 
further  harm  to  his  kind,  in  a  muddle  of  bloody  snow. 

When  he  drove  up  about  midday  to  the  little  inn  at 
Zarnskaya,  he  found  himself  nearer  to  his  quarry  than 
he  had  dared  to  hope. 

"  You  will  stop  the  night,  barin  ?"  asked  the  landlord, 
when  he  got  out  to  stamp  the  cramp  out  of  his  feet  and 
to  get  a  glass  of  vodka,  for  it  was  bitterly  cold.  The 
sky  was  black  above  the  snow  and  the  north  wind  swept 
between  the  two  like  a  scythe. 

"I  go  on,"  said  Stepan. 

"It  is  madness,"  said  the  landlord.  "You  are  all 
mad  together  to-day,  and  some  of  you  will  pay  for  it. 
Ah,  God,  yes !  There  were  others  here  over  night 
intending  to  start  at  daybreak,  as  one  must  to  cross 
the  steppe.  It  is  one  hundred  and  twenty  versts,  and 
the  wolves  are  out,  and  it  is  going  to  snow  again,  and 
those  things  mean  death.  One  of  their  sledges  broke  a 
runner  when  they  started  and  they  had  to  get  it  mended, 
and  they  started  three  hours  late.  I  did  my  best  to 
get  them  to  wait  till  to-morrow,  but  they  thought  I 
was  thinking  only  of  myself.  They  will  find  it  was  of 
them  I  was  thinking  before  they  are  done  with  it.  The 


278  THE   LONG  ROAD 

steppe  is  a  hungry  devil,  and  the  wolves  are  hungry 
devils,  and  they  will  all  get  fed  to-day.  You  go  to 
your  death  if  you  go  on,  barin." 

"I  go  all  the  same." 

"You  are  all  mad  together.  Pity  you  did  not  get 
here  in  time  to  go  with  the  other  madmen." 

"I  wish  I  had.     Perhaps  I  shall  catch  them." 

"Then  you  can  all  die  together.  It  is  better  than 
dying  alone." 

"  Akh  !  hear  the  snow !"  he  said,  as  Stepan  drew  his 
sheepskin  coat  up  above  his  ears  and  went  toward 
the  door. 

And  it  was  to  be  both  seen  and  heard.  The  wind 
had  increased  since  he  went  into  the  house.  The  stout 
wooden  eaves  hummed  in  it,  the  whirling  flakes  shot 
past  on  the  level  with  a  venomous  hiss.  The  shaggy 
coats  of  his  horses  were  thick  with  it  already.  They 
hung  their  heads  with  their  ears  laid  back  and  looked 
askance  at  him. 

"And  you  go?"  said  the  landlord  once  more,  in  final 
remonstrance  at  folly  so  great. 

"  Yes,  I  go,"  and  he  cleared  the  snow  from  his  seat  and 
drew  the  sheepskin  over  his  knees  and  was  gone. 

"There  will  be  so  many  madmen  the  less  in  the  world. 
Ah,  God,  yes!"  said  the  landlord,  philosophically,  as 
he  shut  the  door. 

Paschkin  but  two  hours  ahead  of  him !  What  were 
wind  and  snow  and  hungry  devils  of  steppes  and  wolves, 


THE  LONG  ROAD  279 

with  Paschkin  but  two  hours  in  front  ?  There  was  that 
inside  him  that  was  hungrier  than  steppe  or  wolf. 
The  hunger  that  had  waited  seven  long  years  to  be 
fed.  And  now  that  which  it  sought  was  only  two  hours 
ahead.  The  hunger  ravened  within  him. 

His  gun  lay  at  his  right  hand  snugly  covered  from  the 
snow,  his  spear  at  his  left  hand,  and  in  his  belt  hung 
the  axe  that  was  to  take  payment  in  Paschkin's  blood  for 
Baby  Stepan,  and  little  Katenka,  and  Katia. 

Now  and  again  he  dashed  the  snow  out  of  his  face 
and  peered  through  his  narrowed  lids  at  the  whirling 
waste  in  front.  There  was  no  mistaking  the  road 
across  the  steppe,  for  its  course  was  marked  by  gaunt 
skeletons  of  trees  stuck  up  at  regular  intervals.  He 
could  not  indeed  see  fifty  yards  or  fifty  feet,  but  the 
road  was  straight,  and  so  long  as  the  skeleton  trees 
sped  silently  past  him  he  was  keeping  to  it. 

The  wind  bit  like  an  axe,  but  he  was  too  hot  inside  to 
feel  it.  The  horses  plunged  through  the  gale  with  their 
heads  down,  and  flung  them  up  every  now  and  again 
to  shake  the  snow  out  of  their  eyes  and  ears.  And  their 
driver  leaned  forward  with  a  face  like  a  hawk,  and  every 
now  and  again  he  dashed  the  snow  away  and  peered 
into  the  whirling  waste  in  front. 

It  seemed  as  if  the  whole  world  were  emptying  itself 
against  him,  in  showers  of  white  arrows  out  of  a  black 
sky.  But  he  heeded  them  not.  He  would  not  turn, 
though  the  black  sky  itself  came  tumbling  down  on ' 


28o  THE  LONG  ROAD 

him  and  emptied  itself  in  one  fell  crash,  not  if  his 
horses  could  struggle  through  the  fragments. 

For  Paschkin  was  on  in  front  there.  He  might  find 
the  gale  too  much  for  him  and  turn  back.  Any  moment 
they  might  come  face  to  face.  He  felt  for  his  gun  with 
one  hand,  and  shifted  the  reins  and  felt  for  his  spear 
with  the  other,  and  shifted  them  again  and  loosened  the 
axe  in  his  belt. 

And  then,  dashing  away  the  snow  and  peering  ahead, 
he  saw,  close  upon  him,  a  sledge  coming  slowly  to  meet 
him,  like  a  wounded  animal. 

He  eyed  it  like  a  hawk.  His  eyes  gleamed  through 
the  snow  that  plastered  them  in  a  moment. 

There  were  three  men  in  the  sledge.  They  shouted  to 
him,  but  he  sped  on.  None  of  these  was  the  man  he 
sought. 

"God  in  heaven !"  said  one  of  the  three  in  the  other 
sledge.  "Was  that  man  or  devil?  Did  you  see  its 
eyes?" 

"It  looked  like  a  man,"  said  one. 

"It  looked  like  a  devil,"  said  another. 

"The  steppe  will  find  out,"  said  the  third. 


CHAPTER  LVI 

ON  went  Stepan  into  the  mad  white  whirl,  where 
Paschkin  was,  somewhere  in  front.  On  for  another 
hour,  for  two  hours,  and  still  no  sight  of  what  he  sought ; 
but  the  gale  slackened  somewhat  in  its  fury,  and  he 
could  see  farther  ahead. 

Then,  as  he  crouched  with  lowered  head  like  a  great 
bird  of  prey,  a  sound  other  than  the  wind  fell  on  his 
ear,  keyed  in  a  different  tone,  a  sound  he  knew  well,  — 
wild  yelpings  and  howlings,  hideous  snappings  and 
snarlings,  —  wolves  fighting  over  their  prey.  Not  the 
long  howl  of  the  prowler,  nor  the  short  snarling  yap 
of  the  trailing  pack.  These  brutes  had  got  something 
and  were  fighting  over  it.  Please  God  it  be  not  Pasch- 
kin !  Ah  !  God  !  —  to  think  of  losing  him  so,  after  all 
these  years  !  Then  came  other  sounds  along  the  wind. 
Thud !  thud !  at  once  sharp  and  dull  through  the 
muffling  of  the  snow,  but  guns  without  doubt. 

And  then  he  was  on  them  before  he  could  stop. 

A  sledge  still  standing,  one  outside  horse  down, 
with  a  dozen  wolves  tearing  and  rending  at  it.  The 
other  two  plunging  and  kicking  and  biting  for  their 
lives*. 

A  bristling  hedge  of  wolves  round  the  sledge.    A  burly 
281 


282  THE  LONG  ROAD 

man  in  furs  holding  on  to  the  cover  with  one  hand, 
and  slashing  wildly  at  the  bloody  fangs  on  each  side 
with  a  sword  in  the  other.  A  hopeless  fight!  They 
were  scrambling  up  the  back,  leaping  at  the  sides, 
twenty  to  one.  An  impossible  fight ! 

All  this  Stepan  Iline  grasped  in  one  single  glance  as 
he  swept  up  at  a  gallop. 

His  sledge  bowled  over  half-a-dozen  of  the  bloody 
fangs  as  he  passed. 

He  could  barely  draw  in  his  own  terrified  horses,  but 
managed  it  at  last,  and  leaped  out  into  the  snow,  and 
ran  back,  dragging  out  his  axe  as  he  went. 

Were  the  bloody  fangs  to  cheat  him  of  his  prey? 
After  seven  years ! 

He  shouted  as  he  ran,  but  knew  not  what  he  shouted. 
Then  he  was  in  among  them,  shouting  still  and  hacking 
wildly  at  leaping  brown  bodies  and  snarling  fronts. 
And  the  mad  thrill  of  slaughter  ran  up  through  leg  and 
loin  as  they  tightened  to  the  fight ;  up  through  muscle 
and  sinew,  through  hand  and  arm,  as  the  hungry  axe 
bit  death  through  bristling  hide  and  crunching  bone, 
and  he  felt  life  die  close  under  his  hand ;  up  into  his 
brain,  till  he  saw  nothing,  thought  nothing,  felt  nothing 
but  blood-red,  snarling  fangs,  and  blood-red  eyes,  and 
gaping  bloody  wounds  wherever  his  keen  axe  fell. 

They  leaped  at  his  throat,  with  gnashing  teeth,  and 
scrabbling  claws,  and  yellow-green  flaming  eyes  like 
fiends  incarnate,  and  he  laughed  aloud  as  he  shore  them 


THE  LONG  ROAD  283 

down.  The  smell  of  them  —  their  fetid  breath  and 
stinking  bodies  —  was  in  his  nostrils  in  spite  of  the  wind. 
His  heart  and  brain  were  bursting  with  the  lust  of 
slaughter.  He  was  Berserk,  and  nothing  could  with- 
stand him. 

The  back  of  the  sledge  was  cleared.  He  swung  round 
the  side  and  cleft  the  head  of  a  brute  that  was  climbing  in 
there  in  spite  of  the  man  with  the  sword.  They  were 
still  swarming  on  the  foundered  horse,  and  he  cleft 
them  as  they  fought,  and  they  fell  with  their  mouths 
full  of  meat. 

The  driver,  with  his  arms  laced  in  the  reins,  had  been 
doing  his  best  to  restrain  the  plunging  horses.  He  was 
jerked  suddenly  from  his  seat  and  fell  headlong  into 
the  turmoil  in  front.  Stepan  had  no  time  to  help  him. 
If  he  was  to  die  so,  he  must  die.  He  did  not  hate  him 
to  the  point  of  saving  him  for  a  keener  death. 

The  burly  man  in  fur  had  managed  to  hold  his  own 
fairly  well.  He  made  good  play  with  his  sword  and  kept 
the  brutes  at  bay,  but  could  do  little  more.  Then  Stepan 
heard  a  hot  oath,  and  from  the  corner  of  his  eye  he  saw 
what  had  happened.  The  swordsman  had  transfixed  a 
great  brute  on  the  spring.  It  twisted  as  it  fell,  and  the 
sword  snapped  at  the  hilt,  and  now  the  big  man  stood 
kicking  furiously  with  his  big  boots  at  the  gnashing 
mouths  that  menaced  him. 

That  was  unprofitable  fighting  and  could  not  last 
long.  It  needed  close  quarters,  and  a  short  axe,  and  a 


284  THE   LONG  ROAD 

brain  but  one  remove  from  madness,  to  cleave  them  in 
pieces  and  strike  terror  into  the  rest. 

And  that  Stepan  did.  When  at  last  he  found  no 
leaping  body  to  hack  at,  and  stood  panting  and  spent, 
the  snow  was  like  a  shambles,  and  the  edge  of  his  axe 
was  blunted. 

Close  upon  a  score  of  gaunt  bodies  lay  about,  horri- 
bly mangled,  and  the  rest  had  limped  away,  all  save  one. 
It  stood  alongside  the  dead  horse,  still  tearing  and 
eating  ravenously. 

Stepan  strode  at  it.  It  looked  up  at  him  as  he  came, 
but  went  on  wolfing  the  unexpected  meal  without  a 
pause.  He  remembered  that  strange,  reproachful  look 
in  the  famished  green  eyes  for  many  a  day.  He  cleft 
its  head,  and  it  fell  with  its  mouth  full  of  red  meat,  and 
as  it  rolled  over  he  saw  two  untimely  pups  sucking  hard 
at  its  shrivelled  dugs.  They  were  very  small  and  very 
hungry,  and  they  went  on  sucking  at  the  mother  who  had 
died  doing  her  best  for  them.  The  pack,  he  perceived, 
had  been  on  the  prowl,  this  belated  mother  among  them, 
when  Paschkin's  sledge  ran  into  them ;  and  while  the 
fighters  fought,  she  had  turned  her  opportunity  to  ac- 
count. 

Scarce  knowing  what  he  did,  but  with  an  instinct  of 
pity  for  their  forlorn  estate,  Stepan  picked  up  the  cubs 
and  stuffed  them  inside  his  sheepskin. 

He  saw  the  driver  lying  among  his  horses'  feet,  but 
whether  he  was  alive  or  dead  he  did  not  know. 


THE  LONG  ROAD  285 

horses  stood  still  now,  shaking  with  terror,  but  not 
moving  a  hoof,  as  though  they  feared  to  harm  the 
man. 

Then  the  burly  man  in  fur,  as  he  stood  panting  in  the 
sledge,  looked  at  him,  and  said,  "By  God,  man,  but 
you  are  a  fighter!" 

And  Stepan  looked  on  Paschkin 's  face  for  the  first 
time  in  nine  years. 

It  was  very  little  altered,  fuller  and  redder  beneath 
the  big  red  beard,  but  otherwise  as  he  had  known  it,  — 
hard,  brutal,  domineering. 

Paschkin  did  not  recognise  him.  That  was  not 
surprising. 

"  Who  are  you,  and  how  came  you  in  the  nick  of  time 
to  save  our  lives?"  He  got  heavily  out  of  the  sledge 
and  came  toward  him. 

Stepan  gazed  at  him  and  tightened  his  grip  on  his 
axe. 

"Before  God,  I  believe  the  fighting  has  addled  his 
wits,"  said  Paschkin.  "What  is  wrong  with  you, 
man?"  and  he  came  closer. 

Stepan  swung  his  thirsty  axe  in  his  hand  and  looked 
at  him,  and  Paschkin  saw  that  looking  out  through  his 
eyes  which  brought  him  to  a  stand. 

"You  are  Paschkin,"  said  Stepan  at  last,  in  a  voice 

'   that  was  raucous  and  broken,  a  voice  which  had  in  it 

all  the  years  of  waiting,  all  the  years  of  suffering,  all  the 

years  of  loneliness  and  brooding  madness;   had  in  it, 


286  THE  LONG  ROAD 

too,  something  of  these  last  strenuous  minutes  of  blood 
and  slaughter. 

"I  am  Stepan  Iline." 

1 '  Iline  ?  —  Iline  ?  —  "  said  Paschkin,  vaguely.  He 
had  not  thought  of  the  man  for  years.  "Well,  I  will 
reward  you." 

"Nine  years  ago,"  came  the  harsh  voice  again, 
"you  broke  my  life.  You  robbed  me  of  home  and  wife 
and  children.  All  these  years  I  have  waited  for  you. 
For  fifteen  days  I  have  followed  you.  Now  you  are  to 
die  for  my  little  Katenka,  and  for  little  Stepan,  and 
for  Katia." 

"Little  Katenka?"  said  Paschkin. 

The  man  was  mad,  as  he  had  supposed.  Now  he  was 
sure  of  it.  He  turned  and  ran  to  his  sledge  to  seek  a 
weapon.  But  Stepan  was  the  quicker,  as  offence  is 
quicker  than  defence.  He  hurled  himself  against  the 
other  with  such  force  that  he  stumbled  and  fell,  and 
Stepan  sprang  into  the  sledge. 

He  had  not  done  with  him  yet.  One  blow  as  he  lay 
would  have  ended  him.  But  he  had  not  suffered  enough 
yet.  He  must  taste  death  slowly. „  Nine  bitter  years 
were  not  to  be  wiped  out  with  one  hurried  blow. 

Paschkin  picked  himself  up  and  wondered  to  find 
himself  alive. 

Stepan  stood  in  the  sledge  and  swung  his  axe  slowly. 

"Here  you  die,"  he  said  hoarsely,  "for  all  the  ill  you 
have  wrought  your  fellows.  But  you  shall  die  slowly. 


THE  LONG  ROAD  287 

You  shall  taste  death  inch  by  inch,  as  you  have 
dealt  it.  One  blow  for  little  Stepan,  and  one  for 
little  Katenka  —  " 

"Little  Katenka!"  echoed  Paschkin  once  more  in 
astonishment. 

" —  and  one  for  Katia.  And  then  you  will  be  dead, 
and  all  that  you  have  been  thinking  will  be  gone  from 
you.  And  it  is  for  little  Stepan  and  Katenka  — " 

" Katenka!"  said  Paschkin  again. 

"  —  and  for  Katia  that  you  die." 

And  then  a  wonder  happened. 

Something  moved  beneath  his  feet  in  the  sledge  and 
the  fur  robes  tumbled  over,  and  a  little  child  sat  up 
among  them, — a  fair  child  in  a  close-fitting  fur  capote, 
from  under  which  streamed  a  halo  of  fair  curls,  a  girl- 
child  with  a  pitiful  sweet  face,  white  and  drawn  with 
fear,  and  blue  eyes  running  tears. 

And  Stepan  gazed  down  at  her  with  amazement. 
She  was  so  very  like  his  own  little  Katenka  who  lay 
out  there  on  the  hillside  by  Chernsk. 

She  looked  wildly  round  and  clasped  her  little  fur- 
mittened  hands,  and  catching  sight  of  Paschkin  in  the 
snow,  she  cried:  "Oh,  little  father!  Are  they  gone? 
The  dreadful  beasts?" 

"They  are  gone,  my  little  Katenka,"  said  Paschkin, 
in  a  voice  the  like  of  which  Stepan  had  never  heard  from 
him  before. 

"Katenka!    Little   Katenka!"    gasped    Iline,  and 


288  THE   LONG  ROAD 

his  thirsty  axe  stopped  swinging,  and  he  gazed  down 
at  her  with  blazing,  hungry  eyes. 

The  snow  fell  into  her  face  as  she  looked  wonderingly 
up  at  him  —  so  like,  so  very  like,  his  own  little  Katenka 
who  was  gone.  She  brushed  it  off  with  her  furry  hands, 
and  stared  up  at  him  with  terrified  blue  eyes  and  quiver- 
ing lips.  So  like  !  Oh,  so  like  !  So  like  ! 

"  Oh,  little  father,  don't  let  him  kill  me  !  The  dread- 
ful man,  don't  let  him  kill  me!"  she  shrieked  in  an 
agony  of  fear,  and  squeezed  her  furry  hands  tight  against 
her  ears,  as  though  to  shut  out  sound  of  death,  but  could 
not  tear  her  eyes  from  the  terrible  figure  that  towered 
above  her. 

And  at  that  Paschkin  lowered  his  bull  head  and 
rushed  blindly  at  Stepan  with  a  roar,  on  the  poor  chance 
of  getting  in  to  grapple  him,  and  Stepan  raised  his  red 
axe  for  the  blow  he  had  hungered  for  all  these  years. 

"No!  no!  no!"  shrieked  the  child  at  his  feet,  and 
clasped  her  arms  round  his  big  boots. 

Then,  of  a  sudden,  something  happened  to  him, 
something  which  he  never  fully  understood,  though  he 
often  tried  to  grope  back  to  the  roots  of  it  afterwards. 

It  was  as  if  something  snapped  inside  him,  as  if  some- 
thing went  out  of  him  and  left  him  suddenly  weak 
and  powerless  for  harm.  And  he  knew  that  in  the  face 
of  this  new  little  Katenka  he  could  not  carry  out  his 
purpose,  and  that  Paschkin  must  live.  Instead  of  the 
red  axe  edge  the  bull  head  met  the  heave  of  a  mighty 


THE  LONG  ROAD  289 

shoulder,  and  Paschkin  reeled  over  into  the  snow 
among  the  dead  wolves,  and  wondered  once  more  to 
find  himself  alive. 

And  Iline  heaved  a  great  sigh,  a  sigh  which  seemed 
to  rend  him  in  twain.  It  told  of  cleavage.  In  that 
moment  the  past  died  and  the  future  was  born,  inchoate, 
formless,  void. 

For  seven  years  he  had  lived  for  one  sole  object,  and 
in  a  moment  all  that  he  had  lived  for  died,  brushed  aside 
by  a  tiny,  quivering  face  and  a  pair  of  terrified  blue  eyes 
and  a  mass  of  yellow  curls,  even  as  the  little  furred 
hands  brushed  aside  the  snowflakes  which  fell  upon 
these  things. 

He  felt  suddenly  old  and  weary,  and  weak  and  empty. 
He  looked  at  the  child,  and  then  he  looked  at  Paschkin, 
who  had  picked  himself  up  and  stood  stormily  defiant 
in  the  snow,  wondering,  but  not  afraid,  and  meditating 
another  onrush. 

Once  again,  at  sight  of  him,  Iline  swung  up  his  axe 
irresolutely.  But  his  own  little  Katenka  looked  up  at 
him  out  of  the  terrified  eyes  of  the  child  at  his  feet,  and 
it  fell  again. 

"  Before  God,  I  cannot,"  he  muttered,  and  he  shook 
himself  free  of  her  and  stumbled  blindly  out  of  the 
sledge,  and  was  lost  in  a  moment  behind  the  screen  of 
falling  snow. 

Paschkin  waited  to  see  if  he  would  return,  then  came 
up  to  the  sledge. 


29o  THE  LONG  ROAD 

''Lie  down,  dushenka,"  he  said  gently,  "and  I  will 
cover  you  from  the  cold." 

"  Is  the  bad  man  gone,  little  father  ?  "  asked  Katenka. 

"He  is  gone,  little  one.  He  will  not  harm  you.  Lie 
down  now,  while  I  see  if  Mikhail  is  alive  or  dead." 

He  covered  her  with  the  furs,  found  one  of  his  empty 
pistols  and  loaded  it  carefully,  and  then  peering  round 
into  the  snow  and  seeing  nothing,  he  turned  to  the  man 
who  lay  among  the  horses'  hoofs. 

He  soothed  the  terrified  beasts  with  words  which 
they  understood.  He  was  ever  a  lover  of  horses  and 
they  recognised  it.  He  went  in  between  them  and 
drew  the  man  out  from  among  their  nervous  feet.  He 
was  not  dead,  but  senseless  from  an  unintentional  kick 
before  they  knew  he  was  there. 

Then  Paschkin  unhooked  the  dead  horse  and  led 
the  other  two  and  the  sledge  away  from  it.  He  spoke 
encouragingly  to  the  others,  and  saw  that  the  outside 
one  was  bitten  in  many  places  and  had  lost  blood.  It 
had  frozen  in  cakes  on  her  rough  skin.  The  other,  the 
shaft  horse,  was  in  better  case,  but  both  trembled  still 
as  if  taken  with  the  staggers. 

Paschkin  shook  his  head  as  he  looked  them  over. 
Thirty  miles  to  go,  he  reckoned,  at  the  very  least,  and 
those  two  shivering  beasts  could  never  do  it  with  the 
laden  sledge. 

He  pondered  the  matter  gravely.  It  was  a  matter 
of  life  or  death. 


THE   LONG  ROAD  291 

He  could  lighten  it  somewhat  by  jettisoning  his  per- 
sonal effects.  He  considered  the  idea  of  leaving  Mik- 
hail behind  with  them.  He  would  be  dead  before  they 
could  send  for  him,  of  course.  But  as  between  the  life 
of  Mikhail  and  the  lives  of  Paschkin  and  his  daughter, 
there  could  be  no  question. 

"The  madman  has  spared  us  quick  death  for  slow," 
he  said  to  himself. 

Before  he  was  committed  to  a  decision,  however, 
the  matter  resolved  itself.  A  clump  of  black  figures 
loomed  through  the  snow  vail  —  Stepan  Iline  and 
his  three  horses  —  to  Paschkin 's  vast  and  undying 
amazement. 

He  had  followed  them  along  the  road  and  found  them 
half  a  mile  away,  anchored  to  one  of  the  skeleton  trees 
by  the  broken  sledge.  They  had  bolted  from  the  wolves 
when  he  leaped  out,  and  the  sledge  flying  from  side  to 
side,  had  ended  by  crashing  into  one  of  the  trees  and 
jamming  so  tightly  round  it  that  the  horses  fell  in  a  heap. 
On  rising  and  finding  themselves  held,  they  stood. 

Without  a  word  he  loosed  Paschkin 's  two  and  tied 
the  reins  to  the  back  of  the  sledge,  harnessed  his  three 
in  their  places,  and  motioned  the  astounded  Paschkin 
to  get  in.  "The  shafter  is  sound,"  said  Paschkin. 
"Better  use  her,"  and  Stepan  saw  the  wisdom  of  it, 
and  with  some  rearrangement  of  the  gear  succeeded 
in  yoking  the  four  abreast.  Then  they  placed  the  un- 
conscious Mikhail  in  the  sledge  and  Paschkin  gathered 


292  THE   LONG  ROAD 

his  furs  about  him.  Stepan  picked  up  his  whimpering 
wolf  cubs  from  the  snow  where  he  had  dropped  them 
while  working,  tucked  them  into  his  coat,  and  climbed 
into  his  seat,  and  they  sped  away  from  the  cluster  of 
little  white  mounds  which  marked  the  scene  of  the  fight. 


CHAPTER   LVII 

AND  as  the  skeleton  trees  which  marked  the  road 
whisked  past  them  one  by  one,  Paschkin  thought  over 
it  all,  and  knew  that  he  had  been  very  near  to  death,  and 
had  escaped  by  a  miracle  which  was  past  his  under- 
standing. And  before  him,  on  the  great  white  sheet 
of  the  steppe,  he  pictured  the  panorama  of  the  mighty 
future  that  should  be  his. 

And  Stepan  Iline  on  the  driver's  seat  looked  out 
with  vague  and  lustreless  eyes,  and  saw  nothing  in  front 
but  a  wide,  white  desolation.  For  the  hope  that  had 
been  in  him  —  the  one  thing  he  had  lived  for  all  these 
years  —  was  dead,  and  now  he  had  nothing  left  to 
live  for. 

He  felt  the  cold  as  he  had  not  felt  it  before,  for  the 
fire  that  had  warmed  him  for  seven  years  was  burnt  out, 
and  only  the  ashes  were  left.  The  snow  fell  upon  him 
and  covered  him  till  he  looked  like  a  snow  man.  He 
did  not  even  trouble  to  shake  it  off.  The  only  warm 
spot  about  him  was  where  the  wolf  cubs  whimpered 
close  above  his  heart. 

More  than  once  as  they  swept  along,  hour  after  hour, 
with  the  wounded  horse  panting  heavily  behind, 
Paschkin 's  eyes  settled  on  the  motionless  white  figure 

293 


294  THE  LONG  ROAD 

in  front,  and  under  the  hypnotising  influence  of  the 
steadily  falling  flakes,  and  the  swift  backward  rush  of 
the  white  plain,  strange  thoughts  came  into  his  mind. 

At  times  he  felt  an  overpowering  inclination  to  place 
his  pistol  to  the  back  of  that  moveless  head  and  end 
the  man.  He  was  a  menace.  He  was  beyond  doubt 
mad.  It  would  be  but  the  raising  of  a  hand  and  the 
pressure  of  a  finger  and  the  menace  was  gone  for  ever. 

The  madman  had  undoubtedly  saved  their  lives 
from  the  wolves,  but  he  had  done  it  only  for  the  purpose 
of  his  private  vengeance.  Why  should  he  spare  him? 

Yet,  again,  he  had  abandoned  that  purpose  under 
some  strange  impulse  which  could  only  be  guessed  at, 
and  which  Paschkin  did  not  pretend  to  fully  understand. 
The  intention  might  spring  up  again  at  any  moment  and 
prove  too  much  for  him.  Why  should  he  spare  him? 

Paschkin  fingered  his  pistol  doubtfully  and  was 
strongly  impelled  to  use  it  and  suffer  no  risks.  He 
decided  to  watch  the  man  warily  and  at  the  first  sus- 
picious sign  to  make  an  end  of  him. 

If  he  carried  them  through  safely,  he  could  hand  him 
over  to  the  police  to  deal  with  as  they  thought  fit. 
That  would  undoubtedly  be  the  best  thing  to  do,  both 
for  the  man  himself  and  for  the  community  at  large. 

But  Stepan  had  no  evil  mind  left  in  him.  It  was  all 
a  blank,  and  his  dull  thoughts  carried  him  no  farther 
than  the  next  inn. 

So,  on  and  on  across  the  endless  white  waste.    The 


THE  LONG  ROAD  295 

snow  ceased  falling,  but  it  had  grown  too  dark  to  see 
the  guiding  trees ;  and  Stepan  at  last  drew  rein,  and  the 
panting  horses  stood  in  a  great  cloud  of  steam  and  hung 
their  heads  and  snuffled  at  the  snow  on  the  ground. 

Paschkin  fingered  his  pistol.  Stepan  got  down 
heavily.  He  was  cramped  and  half  frozen. 

"What  now?"  asked  Paschkin,  on  the  alert. 

"I  can  no  longer  see  the  road,"  said  Stepan.  "The 
moon  will  come  soon.  We  must  wait,"  and  he  stamped 
his  numbed  feet  and  swung  his  arms  one  after  the  other 
to  set  the  blood  running  again. 

He  went  round  and  said  a  word  to  each  of  the  horses 
in  turn.  The  clouds  of  steam  fell  down  on  their  backs 
in  white  rime.  He  brushed  it  off  with  his  hand  and 
spanked  them  over  the  loins  to  keep  the  cold  from  strik- 
ing in.  Presently  he  tucked  his  cubs  into  his  inner 
coat  and  took  off  his  sheepskin  and  laid  it  on  the  loins 
of  the  shaft  horse,  which  was  beginning  to  shiver. 

Paschkin,  warily  observant  of  his  every  movement, 
saw  him  do  it  and  said  to  himself,  "The  madman  is 
good  to  his  horses,"  and  thereafter  felt  somewhat  less 
suspicious  of  him. 

He  heard  him  go  behind  the  sledge  and  wondered 
what  he  was  up  to.  And  the  hair  at  the  back  of  his 
head  began  to  prickle,  and  he  half  expected  to  feel  the 
edge  of  the  axe  in  his  neck.  Then  he  heard  him  mur- 
muring to  the  wounded  horse  and  cheering  it  up,  and 
his  mind  was  at  ease  again. 


296  THE   LONG  ROAD 

Little  Katenka,  overwrought  with  her  fears,  had 
fallen  asleep  in  her  nest  of  furs  when  her  father  covered 
her  up.  She  woke  now  with  the  sudden  cessation  of 
motion,  and  cried,  — 

"Little  father,  are  you  there ?"  and  felt  for  him  in 
the  dark  with  her  hands. 

"I  am  here,  dushenka,"  said  Paschkin,  in  the  voice 
Stepan  had  found  it  difficult  to  reconcile  with  him. 

"Are  we  there,  little  father?" 

"Not  yet,  little  one;  we  are  waiting  for  the  moon." 

"Where  is  the  bad  man?  Is  he  gone?  Did  you 
kill  him,  little  father?" 

"He  is  seeing  to  the  horses.  As  soon  as  the  moon 
comes  we  shall  go  on.  Lie  down  again  and  go  to  sleep." 

She  lay  still  for  a  minute  and  then  sat  up,  saying, 
"I  cannot  sleep.  What  is  this,  little  father?"  and  she 
kicked  Mikhail's  body  with  her  toes. 

"It  is  Mikhail.     He  is  asleep." 

Stepan  moved  about  the  horses,  patting  them  and 
spanking  them,  and  straining  his  ears  to  catch  every 
note  of  her  prattle.  So  like  !  —  so  like  !  But  his  little 
Katenka  lay  on  the  hillside  by  Chernsk.  And  it  was 
Paschkin  sent  her  there.  And  this  was  Paschkin 's 
little  Katenka. 

Vaguely,  like  a  bat  in  the  night,  the  idea  flitted  across 
the  blankness  of  his  mind,  that  it  was  still  in  his  power 
to  kill  Paschkin  and  make  this  little  Katenka  his  own. 
Tt  would  only  be  taking  from  Paschkin  what  Paschkin 


THE   LONG   ROAD  297 

had  taken  from  him.  And  once  his  hand  stole  up  to 
the  axe  in  his  belt,  but  he  dropped  it  again  with  a  sigh. 
He  knew  it  could  not  be.  Then  he  ran  his  hand  gently 
under  the  breeching  of  the  horse  near  him,  and  separated 
the  leather  from  the  skin,  to  which  it  was  freezing  with 
the  sweat. 

At  last  the  moon  broke  through  the  clouds,  which 
trailed  mistily  across  her  face  for  a  time  and  then  cleared 
off  and  left  a  clear  dark  sky,  and  the  white  plain  stretched 
suddenly  to  a  wide  horizon. 

Stepan  put  on  his  sheepskin  coat  and  climbed  into 
his  seat,  and  the  horses  sprang  forward  at  a  gallop, 
and  were  glad  to  be  on  the  move  again. 

"Ah,  there  is  the  bad  man  who  wanted  to  kill  me 
with  his  chopper!"  said  little  Katenka.  "You  won't 
let  him  kill  me,  little  father." 

"He  doesn't  want  to  kill  you,  little  one." 

"He  looked  as  if  he  did,  little  father.  He  looked  as 
if  he  would  eat  me." 

"He  will  not  eat  you,  little  one." 

Stepan  would  have  liked  to  hear  her  talking,  even 
though  it  was  only  hard  words  about  himself.  But 
the  cold  air  made  her  glad  to  muffle  her  head  in  the  robes, 
and  presently  her  prattle  died  away,  and  she  fell  asleep 
again. 

It  was  long  after  midnight  when  they  reached  the 
inn  on  the  edge  of  the  steppe.  Tsarinsk  itself  lay  five 
miles  farther  on,  but  the  inn  was  commodious  and 


298  THE   LONG  ROAD 

did  good  business  with  the  teamsters  crossing  the 
steppe. 

Paschkin,  with  little  Katenka  sound  asleep  in  his 
arms,  hammered  on  the  door  till  the  landlord  opened 
it  in  a  surly  humour,  which  changed  suddenly  to  oily 
obsequiousness  when  he  learned  who  his  visitor  was. 
Stepan  and  an  ostler,  surly  like  the  landlord  at  being 
roused  out  of  his  bed,  carried  the  still  unconscious 
Mikhail  in  and  laid  him  on  the  floor.  Then  the  man 
showed  Stepan  where  he  could  stable  the  horses, 
and  retired  to  his  lair,  leaving  him  to  his  own 
devices. 

He  mechanically  rubbed  down  the  horses,  and  washed 
the  bitten  one,  and  put  some  ointment  on  its  wounds, 
and  made  them  all  comfortable  in  the  great  stable  which 
had  accommodation  for  thirty  horses  and  held  only  half 
a  dozen.  He  made  a  nest  of  hay  for  his  whimpering 
cubs,  but  had  no  food  to  give  them.  He  felt  no  hunger 
himself,  though  he  had  eaten  nothing  since  the  morning, 
and  the  day  had  been  a  wasteful  one.  He  took  a  drink 
of  water  from  a  straw-swaddled  barrel  in  the  stable 
and  lay  down  alongside  his  shaft  horse,  the  one  over 
which  he  had  spread  his  sheepskin. 

He  did  not  sleep  and  he  did  not  think.  He  just  lay 
vacuous,  spent  and  weary,  now  that  nothing  remained 
to  be  done. 

As  he  began  to  grow  warm  his  own  wounds  began  to 
make  themselves  felt.  They  grew  so  uncomfortable 


THE  LONG  ROAD  299 

at  last  that  he  had  to  bestir  himself  and  dress  them, 
and  then,  in  greater  comfort,  he  slept. 

Paschkin,  when  he  had  eaten  and  drunk  his  fill 
of  the  best  the  place  could  afford,  which  nevertheless 
excited  his  voluble  comminations,  lay  down  on  his  bed. 
But  he  had  eaten  and  drunk  so  much  that  it  was  long 
before  he  slept.  And  in  the  ensuing  wrestle  with  the 
slippery  god  his  brain  grew  so  active  that  by  degrees, 
and  with  no  desire  thereto,  he  found  himself  recalling 
the  long-forgotten  episode  of  Stepan  Iline.  It  was  only 
one  among  so  many,  and  he  had  not  once  thought  of 
him  for  quite  seven  years. 

He  recalled  it  now  as  somewhat  of  a  stroke  of  genius 
on  his  part.  He  had  not  made  up  his  mind  what  to 
do  in  the  matter  when  at  last  he  fell  asleep. 

In  the  morning,  when  he  sent  to  inquire  after  the 
man,  he  found  that  he  had  set  off  at  daybreak  with 
his  three  horses  to  recross  the  steppe. 


CHAPTER   LVIII 

WHEN  Stepan  woke  after  a  brief  sleep,  there  was  but 
one  idea  in  his  mind,  and  that  was  that  here  Paschkin 
could  command  power  again.  He  had  spared  Pasch- 
kin's  life,  he  had  perhaps  saved  it,  but  he  mistrusted 
Paschkin. 

He  fed  his  horses  and  got  a  supply  of  food  for  himself 
and  them,  and  then,  to  the  landlord's  surprise,  pur- 
chased from  him  an  old  Tatar  saddle  that  lay  in  the 
stable,  and  announced  his  intention  of  returning  at 
once  at  Zarnskaya. 

"But  —  his  Excellency?"  said  the  other,  agape. 

"His  Excellency?"  said  Stepan,  vaguely,  "his 
Excellency  is  nothing  to  me,"  and  finished  buckling 
the  saddle  on  to  his  trusty  shaft  horse  and  climbed  on 
to  its  back,  with  his  wolf  cubs  in  his  breast,  and  started 
off  across  the  snow. 

Peter  Krop  had  long  since  given  him  up  for  dead. 
By  dint  of  pertinacious  inquiry  he  had  run  the  house 
on  wheels  to  earth  in  the  yard  of  the  inn  at  Krasnoiarsk, 
where  it  stood  awaiting  Stepan's  return.  But  no 
amount  of  inquiry  availed  to  cast  any  light  on  what 
had  become  of  Stepan  himself.  He  had  started  for 
Abrova  but  never  arrived  there,  and  at  last  Peter  Krop 

gave  him  up  as  lost. 

300 


THE  LONG  ROAD  301 

The  housewives  of  Yeniseisk  missed  him  sorely,  and 
many  of  their  wants  had  to  go  unfilled,  or  to  be  filled 
at  a  price  that  caused  their  slender  pockets  to  miss 
him  more  sorely  still.  At  one  time,  all  along  the  line, 
a  thrill  of  hope  passed  through  them  at  sight  of  the  house 
on  wheels  coming  along  just  as  it  used  to  do.  But  it 
was  only  Peter  Krop,  who  had  purchased  it  from  the 
innkeeper  at  Krasnoiarsk  when  they  had  decided  at 
last  that  Stepan  was  dead,  and  the  spoiled  wives  of 
Yeniseisk  found  Peter  a  much  harder  man  to  deal  with 
than  Stepan  had  been.  For  old  Peter's  business  in- 
stincts would  have  required  a  fair  profit  even  on  his 
death-bed. 

So  Peter  Krop  mourned  the  only  friend  he  had  ever 
made  outside  his  own  race,  and  jogged  along  in  his 
place,  though  at  longer  intervals,  since  he  had  rounds 
of  his  own  to  do  as  well.  He  took  a  mournful  pleasure 
in  occupying  the  house  on  wheels,  and  in  his  fancy 
tried  to  people  it  again  with  the  bright  faces  of  Katia 
and  little  Katenka  and  Baby  Stepan. 


CHAPTER  LIX 

AND  far  away,  in  a  strange  northern  land,  a  strange 
man  was  living  a  strange  wild  life. 

It  was  a  land  apart.  He  was  a  man  apart.  Place 
and  man  suited  one  another  exactly. 

It  was,  and  still  is,  save  for  a  few  brief  weeks  in  the 
summer,  the  most  unutterably  desolate  land  on  the 
face  of  the  earth.  In  the  winter  the  temperature  falls 
as  low  as  seventy  degrees  below  zero.  The  ground  is 
frozen  solid  to  the  depth  of  many  hundreds  of  feet.  In 
the  summer  the  surface  thaws  to  the  depth  of  a  foot  or 
so,  but  nothing  ever  penetrates  the  icy  barrier  below. 
All  the  vegetation  of  that  strange  lone  land  springs 
therefore  from  that  foot  of  water-soaked  surface  soil, 
and  the  vegetation  is  in  keeping  with  the  rest. 

Life  there  is  at  its  very  lowest  —  just  twelve  inches 
or  so  removed  from  frozen  death. 

It  is  the  great  moss-land.  Almost  the  only  thing  to 
be  seen  is  moss,  —  living  brown  moss  growing  on  gray 
moss  dead,  growth  upon  growth;  and  creeping  lichens 
here  and  there,  till  for  thousands  of  miles  the  surface 
of  that  land  is  one  vast  sponge,  whereon  and  wherein, 
if  any  man  try  to  walk,  he  sinks  to  his  waist,  to  his 

shoulders,  or  completely  out  of  sight. 

302 


THE  LONG  ROAD  303 

And  into  this  strange  land  the  strange  man  crept 
one  day  and  dwelt  there. 

He  had  journeyed  he  knew  not  how  or  whence. 
There  was  a  void  in  his  mind,  with  a  dangling  thread 
in  it  which  he  strove  in  vain  to  grasp.  Always  it  lay 
just  beyond  him,  but  some  strange  impluse  had  driven 
him  on  and  on  in  hopes  of  laying  hold  of  it  in  time. 

So  he  had  journeyed  doggedly  on  through  the  mighty 
forests  which  belt  the  Northern  Spirits  into  their  dreary 
holds,  and  ward  off  their  coldest  breaths  from  the  plains 
below.  For  months  he  had  wandered  through  age-old 
growths  of  shivering  poplars  and  aspens,  and  mighty 
elms  and  maples,  till  these  gave  place  to  firs  and  pines 
and  larches. 

He  had  fallen  in  with  companies  of  the  hardy  dwellers 
in  those  northern  woods,  whose  language  he  could  not 
speak,  and  whose  habits  were  strange  and  uncouth 
even  to  him.  He  had  joined  them  silently,  lived  with 
them  silently,  and  departed  as  he  came;  and,  uncouth 
as  they  were,  they  had  recognised  his  affliction  and  had 
suffered  him  as  one  stricken  of  the  gods. 

Wherever  he  went,  at  his  heels  gambolled  two  shaggy 
wolf-pups,  and  the  only  thing  that  ever  roused  him 
from  his  lethargy  was  menace  to  these.  He  was  gentle- 
ness itself,  but  once,  when  a  wood-dweller  threatened 
his  pets  with  an  axe,  the  silent  one  flamed  like  Hekla, 
and  the  woodman  escaped  with  his  life,  —  and  food 
for  thought  and  time  to  think  it. 


304  THE   LONG   ROAD 

And  so,  on  and  on,  till  the  vast  solemnities  of  the 
forest-land  lay  behind,  and  he  crept  silently  through 
straggling  patches  of  dwarfer  growths,  stunted  pines 
and  twisted  larches,  cringing  bitterly  before  the  blasts 
that  racked  them  ten  months  out  of  the  twelve. 

He  had  travelled  along  a  watercourse  which  carried 
a  projecting  arm  of  the  final  forest-land  out  into  the 
moss- country.  It  stretched  like  a  peninsula  far  into 
the  treacherous  gray-brown  bog-land. 

He  went  on  till  even  the  dwarf  trees  failed  him  and 
further  advance  meant  death.  Then  he  stood  on  the 
edge  of  the  moss  and  in  some  strange  way  it  appealed 
to  him.  It  was  a  waste  and  empty  land.  He  was  a 
waste  and  empty  man.  He  desired  no  intercourse 
with  his  fellows,  and  here  was  no  man  but  him- 
self. 

The  gloom  of  the  interminable  woods  had  weighed 
upon  him  like  the  stones  on  a  hillside  grave.  Here  were 
light  and  air  and  infinite  space ;  as  far  as  his  eye  could 
travel,  in  front  and  on  either  side,  nothing  but  the  soft 
gray-brown  cushiony  plain,  with  sheet:  of  water  here 
and  there,  and,  marvel  of  marvels,  on  the  hither  edge, 
among  the  stunted  pines  and  larches,  actually  some 
tiny  flowers.  Not  the  gorgeous  blooms  which  carpeted 
the  steppes,  but  still  flowers,  though  their  time  was  as 
short,  and  their  aspect  as  thin  and  watery,  as  the  sources 
from  which  they  sprang. 

It  was  summer  time  when  he  came  upon  the  moss- 


THE   LONG  ROAD  305 

land,  and  his  vacant  mind  was  still  too  numb  to  fore- 
cast the  terrors  of  .winter  in  such  a  place. 

He  still  had  his  axe,  the  axe  that  was  to  have  done 
some  great  deed  and  had  not.  His  mind  was  in  a  fog, 
but  he  knew  the  axe  had  something  to  do  with  the 
matter.  He  would  sit  by  the  hour  looking  at  it  and 
groping  for  the  lost  threads  which  seemed  to  centre  in 
it.  But  he  felled  stunted  trees  with  it  and  built  him- 
self a  tiny  hut  on  the  edge  of  the  moss,  a  rough  enough 
abode,  in  sooth,  but  while  the  mild  weather  lasted  it 
sufficed  for  wool-gathering  wits. 

Of  food  there  was  no  lack,  for  the  time  being.  For 
the  spawning  salmon  were  still  in  the  river,  in  quantities 
so  vast  that  he  had  them  for  the  taking,  and  hunger 
knows  no  close  time.  And  as  he  sat,  day  after  day, 
gazing  listlessly  over  the  infinite  expanse  of  the  moss, 
he  saw  it  mottled  in  places  with  countless  flights  of 
birds.  And,  desiring  them,  he  and  his  wolf-pups 
essayed  a  trip  on  the  spongy  plain  and  came  near  to 
ending  there.  He  sank  up  to  his  waist  at  once,  and  all 
his  struggles  only  took  him  the  deeper,  while  the  four- 
footed  ones  went  completely  out  of  sight. 

They  all  managed  to  crawl  out  at  last,  however,  like 
drowned  rats,  and  sat  looking  at  the  birds  for  the  rest 
of  the  day  with  desire  increased  by  impotence. 

In  the  morning,  with  no  conscious  evolution  of  the 
idea,  rather  by  an  instinct  of  necessity,  he  bound  flat 
pieces  of  wood  to  his  feet  with  withes  of  plaited  bents 


306  THE  LONG  ROAD 

and  rushes,  and,  with  a  pole  for  support,  proved  him- 
self  master  of  the  bog.  And  so,  for  a  time,  eggs  and 
young  birds  were  added  to  their  faring. 

Fire  he  had,  since  flint  and  steel  never  left  him,  and 
while  the  summer  lasted  he  fared  well.  And,  as  body 
strengthened,  mind  improved  somewhat,  but  always 
with  a  misty  vagueness  as  to  the  past,  and,  when  he 
tried  to  get  behind  it,  with  racking  pains  in  the  head 
which  at  times  prostrated  him. 

He  had  strange  fancies  too.  In  unexpected  places 
he  would  come  across  those  unexpected  flowers,  now 
and  again  —  things  of  a  day,  brought  by  the  uncon- 
scious birds,  sprouting  in  decay  and  with  little  to  feed 
on.  And  every  flower  he  saw  was  a  reminder  of  some- 
thing, he  knew  not  what  —  a  tiny  pin-prick  on  that 
dull  thing  that  answered  for  his  mind,  which  spurred 
it  to  further  groping,  but  still  left  him  ever  in  the  dark. 
Nevertheless  he  gathered  every  flower  he  saw  and 
carried  it  home  with  him. 

As  he  drew  near  to  the  hut  a  dim  expectancy  would 
light  his  face.  And  then  he  would  go  inside  and  look 
round  with  a  puzzled  frown,  and  draw  his  hand  wearily 
across  his  brow  and  try  to  remember.  As  with  the 
axe,  the  flowers  stirred  the  ruins  of  his  mind,  and  he 
would  sit  by  the  hour  gazing  at  them  and  trying  in  vain 
to  understand  their  message. 


CHAPTER  LX 

His  dulled  thought  had  not  yet  forecasted  the  future 
in  such  a  place.  He  lived  from  hour  to  hour  and  from 
day  to  day,  and  made  no  provision  for  the  next,  and  so 
one  day  there  came  to  him  the  rude  awakening  to  which 
life  with  half-closed  eyes  is  always  subject. 

For  many  days  the  sky  was  dark  with  flying  birds, 
myriads  of  birds,  and  all  flying  the  same  way.  The 
man  sat  stolidly  watching  them,  and  listening  to  their 
cries.  And  when  they  had  all  disappeared  behind  the 
low  black  line  of  stunted  trees,  the  sky  was  gray  and 
cold. 

Black  clouds  swept  up  from  the  north.  The  great 
morass  shuddered  and  wailed,  and  shrivelled  before 
his  eyes,  as  the  icy  gale  came  shrieking  across  it  from 
far-away  polar  seas.  Every  growing  thing  lay  flat 
before  the  storm.  The  moss  was  beaten  as  with  a 
mighty  flail  and  scored  as  with  a  mighty  harrow,  and 
came  flying  inland  in  flakes  and  blankets.  The  man's 
hut  vanished  with  the  first  breath,  and  he  lay  prone 
with  the  rest,  bitten  by  the  wind,  beaten  by  the  rain. 
His  companions  fled  howling  to  the  nearest  forest 
growth  and  grimped  to  earth  in  the  first  thicket  they 
came  to. 

307 


3o8  THE   LONG  ROAD 

But  the  storm  passed  and  the  sun  shone  out  again 
next  day.  The  wolf-cubs  came  bounding  back,  un- 
conscious of  perfidy,  since  Nature  had  gifted  them  no 
more  generously.  And  the  man  set  stolidly  to  work  to 
house  himself  again. 

He  built  nearer  the  forest  land  this  time,  and  his  hut 
turned  its  back  to  the  north  winds.  And  he  built 
more  strongly,  and  blanketed  his  woodwork  with  great 
sheets  of  moss,  piling  it  thick  and  deep,  till  his  house 
looked  like  nothing  but  an  outgrowth  of  the  moss  itself, 
a  larger  cushion  from  the  cushiony  plain. 

And  instinct  made  him  burrow  down  now  as  well 
as  build  up.  He  dug  out  the  stiff  clayey  earth  with 
his  axe,  as  deep  as  he  could  get,  and  lined  the  whole  with 
mosses,  live  and  dead,  till  the  inside  was  a  nest.  He 
built  a  tiny  fireplace  of  clay  and  cut  down  trees  and 
hauled  them  home  for  firing.  All  sheer  instinct  of  the 
primitive  man  for  warmth  and  shelter. 

Each  day  the  sun  was  going.  The  birds  had  gone 
long  since,  and  when  he  looked  for  salmon  he  found 
only  belated  stragglers.  Before  long  these  were  gone 
too,  and  he  had  to  roam  the  farther  woods  for  berries, 
and  grew  lean  and  thin  on  them,  and  his  wolves  leaner 
still. 

Each  day  now  was  shorter  and  grayer  than  the  last, 
and  the  storms  which  came  howling  out  of  the  north 
brought  icy  sleet  instead  of  rain. 

Then,  one  morning,  he  crept  out  of  his  nest  to  find 


THE  LONG  ROAD  309 

the  world  all  white,  the  morass  a  wavering  snow  plain, 
all  grooved  and  furrowed  and  fluted  into  fantastic 
whorls  by  the  wind ;  and  winter  was  upon  him. 

He  could  still  find  occasional  berries  in  the  woods,  but 
ever  more  precariously,  and  when  at  last  they  failed 
him  entirely,  he  tried  a  diet  of  bark  but  found  no  nutri- 
ment in  it. 

Then  came  a  gale  so  merciless  that  for  two  whole 
days  he  dared  not  venture  his  head  outside.  The  snow 
banked  up  deep  and  high  behind  his  hut,  and  the  fierce 
blasts  welded  it  into  an  icy  cuirass  impervious  to  the 
keenest  assaults  of  the  storm  fiends. 

Outside,  the  wild  winds  shrieked  and  howled  across 
the  tortured  wastes,  and  inside,  his  wolves  whined 
mournfully  over  the  misery  of  their  stomachs.  He 
began  to  eye  them  at  last  as  hungrily  as  they  eyed  him. 
But  they  were  all  spared  that  extremity,  though  they 
came  within  sight  of  it,  and  sat  and  stared  it  in  the  face 
with  hungry  foreboding. 

In  his  ravenous  hunger  for  something  to  stay  the 
groaning  void  within,  he  one  time  plucked  a  handful 
of  the  moss  that  formed  his  nest  and  stuffed  it  into  his 
mouth.  It  took  much  chewing,  but  even  chewing 
was  akin  to  eating,  and  at  last  it  slipped  down  and  gave 
him  some  cold  comfort. 

He  did  his  best  to  induce  his  starving  companions 
to  try  it  also,  but  they  found  no  pleasure  in  it.  He  con- 
tinued eating,  and  ruminated,  in  slow  and  bovine 


3io  THE  LONG  ROAD 

fashion,  while  he  chewed  the  cud,  and  then  set  to  work 
on  that  which  had  come  to  him. 

With  infinite  patience,  he  delved  up  clay  from  the 
lowest  floor  of  his  hut,  kneaded  it  to  a  proper  consistency 
with  snow  which  he  melted  in  his  hands,  and  from  it 
shaped  a  rude  bowl.  This  he  set  to  bake  in  the  ashes 
of  his  fire,  and  sat  and  watched  it  till  it  cracked  and  fell 
in  pieces  along  with  his  hopes. 

He  set  doggedly  to  work  again  and  made  another 
bowl,  and  dried  it  more  slowly,  and  baked  it  more 
cautiously,  but  the  result  was  still  the  same. 

There  was  no  going  outside,  however,  and  he  had 
plenty  of  clay,  and  before  him  lay  months  of  semi- 
starvation  unless  he  could  make  a  pot  that  would  hold 
water  and  stand  fire.  With  all  his  shadowed  mind 
concentrated  upon  this  one  thing  he  made  pot  after 
pot,  cleansing  his  material  now  most  carefully,  in 
case  the  previous  failures  had  been  brought  about 
through  some  alien  mixture  in  the  clay,  and  the  wolves 
sat  watching  hopefully,  such  time  as  they  could  spare 
from  dismal  protest  over  their  clamorous  emptiness. 

And  at  last  he  succeeded.  One  of  his  pots  came  out 
whole  and  hard  and  red,  and  when  it  had  cooled,  and 
he  filled  it  with  snow  and  placed  it  in  the  ashes  again, 
he  had  got  his  desire. 

He  was  cold  inside  with  the  amount  of  clammy  pulp 
he  had  eaten.  He  melted  snow  and  heated  water  and 
drank  it  for  its  comforting  warmth.  Then  he  filled 


THE   LONG   ROAD  311 

his  pot  again  and  shredded  into  it  some  handfuls  of 
moss,  and  boiled  it  to  a  pulp,  and  found  it  not  over- 
palatable,  indeed,  but  more  easily  eaten  than  when 
raw.  It  stayed  his  stomach  and  he  believed  he  could 
live  on  it,  and  the  scraps  he  offered  to  his  companions 
they  bolted  greedily  and  demanded  more. 

The  storm  ceased  next  day  and  he  crept  out  into  the 
strange  new  wintry  world, — the  moss- land  all  a  mighty 
white  plain,  scored  with  league-long  grooves  by  the 
flailing  of  the  wind,  and  all  its  surfaces  polished  smooth 
and  round;  the  dwarf  trees  of  his  peninsula  almost 
hidden  by  the  drifts ;  the  smaller  growths  gone  entirely ; 
the  sky  up  above  grim  and  gray,  and  the  light  between 
but  a  glimmering  twilight. 

With  his  footboards  he  found  he  could  travel  freely, 
and  the  first  thing  he  did  was  to  go  to  the  moss  and  dig 
down  under  the  snow  for  a  fresh  supply,  which  he 
thought  might  be  more  eatable  than  his  own  partly 
withered  stuff. 

He  took  a  new  interest  in  it  now.  Hitherto  it  had 
been  simply  building  material  and  bedding.  Now  it 
was  food  and  life.  He  took  note  of  the  various  kinds 
and  kept  them  separate,  for  experimental  purposes. 
Anything  he  came  across  which  looked  capable  of  boil- 
ing and  eating,  he  took  home  for  trial. 


CHAPTER  LXI 

To  a  man  in  full  possession  of  his  senses  the  vast 
silence  and  solitude  must  have  been  overpowering. 
Not  so  with  this  man.  Since  that  night  when  some- 
thing had  seemed  to  snap  suddenly  in  his  head,  he  had 
been  out  of  touch  with  his  kind,  and  to  a  jangled  mind 
silence  and  solitude  are  merciful  ministers. 

Then,  too,  he  was  not  without  companionship  even 
in  that  immensity  of  desolation.  The  wolves  were 
with  him  always,  and  their  novel  faring  and  utter 
dependence  on  him  seemed  to  tame  their  natural  in- 
stincts and  make  them  more  companionable. 

But  there  were  higher  things  than  these,  and  uncon- 
sciously they  made  for  strengthening  and  uplifting. 

The  sun  had  left  him,  indeed,  and  its  going  and  not 
returning  had  filled  him  for  a  time  with  a  great  dread, 
and  then  with  vague  fears  as  to  what  this  might  por- 
tend. But  the  going  of  the  sun  had  not  left  him  in 
absolute  darkness.  For  a  portion  of  each  month  the 
moon  shone  clear  and  bright,  and  he  was  alone  in  a 
silent  silver  world.  It  was  no  longer  snow  he  gazed 
upon  then,  but  a  mighty  plain  of  frosted  silver,  fan- 
tastically chased  and  wrought,  and  soothing  to  the 
senses  in  the  very  sight  of  it. 

3" 


THE   LONG  ROAD  313 

And  the  friendly  stars  shone  brilliantly  by  day  and 
by  night,  as  though  they  shone  for  him  alone,  and  he 
came  to  know  them  well,  though  not  one  could  he  call 
by  its  name.  And  at  times  there  were  strange  happen- 
ings up  there,  when  one  and  another  of  the  radiant 
twinklers  would  loose  its  hold  with  startling  sudden- 
ness, and  shoot  silently  across  the  darkness,  and  dis- 
appear, and  leave  him  wondering. 

Once,  as  he  sat  watching  them,  a  sudden  flash  of 
steely  blue  scared  him  trembling  to  his  feet.  On  the 
blacker  darkness  above  there  shone  and  died  two  trails 
of  fiery  smoke.  It  seemed  to  him  that  something  fell- 
with  a  hiss  into  the  far-away  moss.  The  earth  shook 
under  him  and  he  crept  into  his  house  and  lay  in  fear. 

When  the  winds  were  loosed  upon  the  flats,  they 
woke  strange  sounds  like  mighty  voices,  wild  wailings 
and  sobbings  and  long-drawn  dolorous  groans  as  of 
spirits  in  travail,  and  at  first  these  also  filled  him  with 
fear.  But  he  grew  accustomed  to  them  at  last,  since 
no  harm  came  to  him  from  them,  and  in  time  the  weird 
voices  became  less  irksome  than  the  infinite  silence. 

But  the  greatest  of  all  the  wonders  of  that  strange 
land  came  upon  him  one  day  as  he  sat,  muffled  in  his 
sheepskin,  striving  in  vain  to  lay  hold  of  the  something 
that  was  behind  all  this  and  himself,  and  which  he 
could  not  grasp  with  all  his  striving.  And  so  terrify- 
ing was  it  in  its  magnificence  that  he  fell  on  his  face  in 
fear,  believing  that  the  end  of  all  things  had  come. 


3i4  THE   LONG  ROAD 

For,  of  a  sudden,  and  in  a  strange  and  solemn  silence, 
the  rim  of  the  northern  darkness  began  to  pulse  with 
tremulous  hints  of  that  which  was  to  come,  as  though 
some  great  quivering  heart  of  light  was  travailing  into 
life  down  there  ir  the  dark. 

Then,  gathering  force,  the  throbbing  glow  took 
shape  in  a  nebulous  haze,  which  rose  and  brightened 
till  the  top  of  it  was  a  luminous  arch,  and  from  the  arch 
streamed  wavering  tongues  of  fire,  of  colours  innumer- 
able and  of  a  radiance  unsurpassed.  Now  they  were 
all  blood-red,  and  now  they  were  vivid  blue,  and  now 
lightning-yellow.  Then,  in  a  moment,  the  wavering 
flames  all  mixed  as  though  a  mighty  breath  had  swept 
across  them,  and  green  and  violet  and  orange  quivered 
into  the  upper  darkness  and  dyed  the  snow  fresh 
colours  every  second.  Then,  as  quickly,  the  blending 
fires  shone  dazzling  white;  and  again  each  darting 
tongue  flashed  all  the  various  tints  throughout  its 
length  from  base  to  tip,  red  at  the  base,  and  yellow  at 
the  tip,  and  all  the  rest  fluttering  along  it  from  end  to 
end  in  strange,  fitful  pulsations. 

So,  for  hours,  the  mighty  spectacle  played  above 
him,  and  he,  enthralled  and  spellbound,  lay  on  his  face 
in  fear  and  only  dared  to  look  up  now  and  again, 
wondering  dimly  what  it  all  might  mean. 

Did  they  dance  to  some  strange  music,  those  mysteri- 
ous lights?  It  seemed  to  him  there  must  be  music, 
but  his  dulled  senses  could  not  catch  it.  He  strained 


THE  LONG  ROAD  315 

his  ears  and  feared  to  breathe,  and  at  times  it  seemed 
to  him  that  he  came  very  near  to  hearing  it,  and  he 
thought  it  was  like  the  singing  of  swinging  bells  — 
golden  bells  and  silver  bells. 

And  then  at  last  the  dancing  lights  waxed  to  their 
highest,  and  gathered  in  a  lambent  coronal  above  the 
arch,  and  slowly  died  away,  and  left  the  dark  world 
the  darker  for  their  having  been. 

He  -crept  back  into  his  lair  full  of  fears  of  what 
might  follow.  But  nothing  broke  the  silence  of  his 
dim  world  and  he  was  rilled  with  wonder  and  amaze, 
and  as  he  lay  in  the  darkness  he  saw  the  tongues  of  fire 
still  quivering  through  his  closed  eyes,  and  in  his  ears 
was  the  singing  of  the  bells. 

He  had  no  knowledge  to  bring  to  the  matter,  nothing 
but  a  vague,  awe-stricken  wonder;  but  in  some  dim 
way  it  seemed  to  him  that  God  was  in  it,  and  his  soul 
was  strangely  stirred. 

But  these  were  the  bright  times  in  the  darkness  of 
the  desolate  land.  At  other  times  the  heavens  were 
shut,  grim  and  black,  and  out  of  the  north,  where  the 
strange  lights  dwelt,  came  only  storm  and  tempest. 
And  then  the  snow-bound  flats  clanged  with  the  rush 
and  roar  of  it,  and  for  days  he  and  his  wolves  would 
lie  in  their  sunken  nest,  trembling  as  the  storm  fiends 
howled  and  tore  above  them,  but  grateful  all,  in  their 
various  ways,  for  the  thick  snow  covering  that  knit 
them  safe  to  earth. 


CHAPTER  LXII 

IT  was  then,  when  the  storm  fiends  raged  and  fought 
above  his  hut,  till  the  whole  black  vault  and  the  vast 
untrodden  spaces  of  the  flats  rang  with  the  sound  of 
them,  that  he  heard  the  bells  again  —  silver  bells  and 
golden  bells,  singing  and  swinging  in  the  hollows  of  the 
storm. 

And  the  sound  of  them  stirred  him  strangely  at 
times,  and  set  him  straining  dumbly  to  get  round  the 
edge  of  the  curtain  that  hung  between  him  and  the 
past.  There  were  bells  behind  the  curtain,  and  they 
meant  something  to  him,  but  what  it  was  he  could  &ot 
tell.  And  this  elementary  striving  after  knowledge 
racked  his  head  with  such  pains  that  he  would  lie  for 
hours  with  his  head  clasped  tight  in  his  hands  to  keep 
it  from  flying  in  pieces. 

More  than  once,  when  the  bells  rang  clear  and  close, 
and  he  could  stand  it  no  longer,  he  got  up  and  went 
out  into  the  shriek  of  the  gale  and  wandered  blindly 
over  the  frozen  plain  in  search  of  them. 

They  led  him  hither  and  thither,  —  now  he  would 
stand  listening  eagerly;  then  he  would  set  off  running 
and  stumbling,  this  way  and  that  way,  but  wherever 

he  went  they  were  elsewhere. 

316 


THE   LONG  ROAD  317 

One  time,  however,  he  came  nearer  to  them  than  he 
had  ever  been  before,  nearer  to  the  ar.swers  to  air  his 
puzzles  and  to  all  that  he  had  lost  out  of  his  life. 

It  was  terribly  hard  going,  for  the  earlier  storms  had 
chastened  the  hummocky  plain  into  nightmare  flutings 
and  convolutions,  and  these  had  been  wrought  into  ice 
by  the  later  Sailings,  and  some  were  smooth  as  glass, 
and  some  were  ribbed  as  though  the  bones  of  giants 
lay  below,  and  some  were  sheaves  of  sharp -pointed 
spears,  and  some  were  hideous  traps  for  stumbling 
feet. 

But  the  bells  sounded  clear  in  his  ears  and  he  ran 
blindly  on,  now  sprawling  headlong,  but  scrambling 
up  again  always,  heedless  of  cuts  and  bruises,  heedless 
of  everything  but  the  calling  of  the  bells/ 

And  suddenly  he  found  himself  falling,  falling,  and 
then  there  came  a  crash,  and  then  a  great  blank. 

When  he  came  to  his  senses,  he  found  himself  in  utter 
darkness  and  silence  in  a  hollow  and  windless  place, 
and  very  sore  and  bruised.  As  he  struggled  to  his  feet 
a  humming  broke  out  all  about  him,  and  rose  louder 
and  louder  till  his  head  came  near  to  splitting  with  the 
noise.  He  clasped  both  his  hands  on  top  of  it,  as  was 
his  wont,  lest  his  wits  should  scatter  altogether.  Then 
the  humming  died  and  he  was  in  silence  again,  and 
looking  up  he  saw  a  patch  of  stars  shining  brightly 
above  him. 

In  the  darkness  he  tried  to  make  out  where  he  was, 


3i8  THE   LONG   ROAD 

but  with  small  success.  All  about  him,  but  at  varying 
distances,  was  i  wall  of  soft  snow,  and  he  perceived 
that  he  was  in  some  way  shut  off  from  the  wind,  but 
how  he  could  not  tell. 

Then,  suddenly,  as  his  slow  wits  pondered  this,  the 
whole  place  blazed  with  crimson  light  as  though  the 
heavens  had  burst  into  flame.  And  in  the  glow  of  it 
he  saw  a  roof  of  ice  above  his  head,  and  the  ragged 
hole  his  fall  had  made  in  it.  He  had  fallen  from  a 
height  on  to  the  thin  icy  covering  of  a  drift,  the  snow 
had  filtered  away  to  some  extent  underneath,  and  he 
stood  in  a  small  chamber  with  snow  walls  all  round 
him  and  a  roof  of  ice  ten  feet  above  his  head. 

And  out  there  the  mystic  lights  were  dancing.  His 
little  chamber  was  suddenly  sun-lit  with  gorgeous 
orange  rays,  and  in  a  moment  was  a  ghastly  livid  green. 
Then  the  colours  changed  so  rapidly,  and  blended  in 
such  strange  confusions,  that  he  could  not  follow  them. 
He  only  knew  that  he  could  see,  and  what  he  saw  was 
not  helpful. 

The  hole  he  had  come  through  was  quite  ten  feet 
above  his  head,  and  it  was  in  the  middle  of  the  sheet 
of  ice  which  roofed  him  in. 

He  ran  to  the  wall  to  try  and  climb  it.  It  was  soft 
and  rotten  and  fell  away  before  him.  He  tried  the 
opposite  side ;  it  yielded  in  the  same  way.  Wherever 
he  tried,  it  was  the  same.  He  could  scrape  into  it  to 
his  heart's  content,  but  he  could  not  climb  it.  All  he 


THE  LONG  ROAD  319 

gained  was  a  larger  space.  And  the  snow  he  scraped 
down  was  so  friable  and  powdery  that  it  vanished  under 
him  like  dust,  —  the  very  ghost  of  snow.  He  might  as 
well  have  tried  to  climb  on  mist  or  build  a  platform  of 
it. 

In  panic  rage  at  the  futility  of  all  his  efforts,  he  flung 
his  axe  at  the  glimmering  roof,  but  it  only  starred  it 
and  fell  back  softly  at  his  feet. 

Was  there  no  escape?  Was  he  to  die  in  this  trap? 
The  blood  boiled  in  his  head  in  impotent  fury. 

And  all  the  while  the  wonder-lights  outside  shimmered 
and  blazed  in  terrifying  glory,  and  every  now  and  again 
some  shift  of  the  storm  filled  the  hole  he  had  made  in 
the  ice,  and  the  hollow  in  which  he  stood,  with  that 
wild  booming  —  deeper  and  louder  now  than  at  first 
—  which  came  near  to  splitting  his  head. 

Any  moment  the  lights  might  go  and  leave  him  in 
the  deeper  darkness  that  always  followed  them.  He 
raged  round  his  cage  like  a  forest  beast  in  its  trap. 

The  lights  blazed  above  him  till  he  could  see  their 
forking  tongues  through  the  hole  in  the  ice.  Then 
they  dwindled  and  died,  and  he  was  in  the  dark.  He 
fell  on  his  face  in  the  powdered  snow  and  gave  up  the 
fight. 

But,  lying  so,  the  storm  in  his  blood  quieted  down, 
and  presently  his  brain  began  to  work  —  as  it  had  not 
worked  for  many  a  day.     The  rush  of  blood  had 
quickened  it.     He  began  to  think. 


32o  THE   LONG  ROAD 

Th°  snow  walls  were  soft.  He  could  bore  through 
them  to  any  distance.  The  drift  he  was  in  must  end 
somewhere.  It  could  not  go  on  for  ever.  If  he  could 
burrow  in  a  straight  line,  he  must  come  to  something  at 
last  —  either  to  the  outside  of  the  snow-bank  or  to  the 
walls  of  the  hollow  in  which  it  lay. 

He  sprang  to  his  feet  again.  One  place  was  as  good 
as  another,  since  he  knew  nothing  of  where  he  was. 
He  began  to  work  his  way  into  the  wall  nearest  him, 
tearing  it  down  with  his  curved  hands,  while  great  soft 
masses  came  rolling  down  on  top  of  him. 

It  worked  up  his  arms  and  down  his  back,  and  ran 
down  into  his  boots  in  streams,  but  he  paid  no  heed  to 
it.  He  grew  hot,  so  hot  at  last  that  he  had  to  take  off 
his  sheepskin  coat,  but  he  had  to  drag  it  with  him  lest 
a  fall  of  the  soft  snow  should  cover  it  and  lose  it  to  him 
for  ever. 

The  very  softness  of  the  snow,  while  it  made  for  easy 
work,  was  against  his  progress.  For  every  armful  he 
tore  down  a  dozen  armfuls  fell  upon  him,  and  so  lightly 
was  it  packed  that  the  roof  of  his  tunnel  was  the  sheet 
of  ice  which  overspread  the  whole.  He  could  not  see 
it,  but  he  could  feel  no  roof  of  snow  above  his  head. 

He  grew  weary  and  empty,  but  he  ground  his  teeth 
and  went  on  burrowing  doggedly.  He  had  been  passive 
and  bioken  all  these  months.  Now  the  fighting  spirit 
was  alive  in  him  again  and  he  was  not  going  to  be 
beaten. 


THE   LONG  ROAD  321 

When  he  grew  so  weary  that  he  could  not  lift  his  arms 
for  another  drag  at  the  snow,  he  wrapped  himself  in  his 
sheepskin  and  slept  where  he  fell.  And  when  he  woke 
he  set  to  work  again  instantly. 

It  was  a  mighty  hollow,  and  how  long  he  worked  he 
never  knew.  But  at  last  his  blindly  scooping  hands 
lighted  on  something  more  solid  than  snow,  and,  by  the 
feel,  he  knew  it  was  moss.  He  had  worked  through  to 
the  edge  of  the  cup.  He  tore  down  a  handful  of  the 
moss  and  began  chewing  it  to  stay  his  hunger.  Then, 
when  he  had  eaten  and  rested,  he  climbed  up  the  moss 
bank,  beat  a  hole  in  the  rim  of  the  icy  shield,  and  scram- 
bled cautiously  up  the  hummock  and  sat  on  the 
top. 

A  sickle  moon  rode  low  in  the  sky  and  cast  a  faint 
light  into  the  darkness  of  the  snowy  plain.  He  had  no 
idea  in  which  direction  his  hut  lay,  for  his  pursuit  of  the 
bells  had  been  erratic.  But  his  brain  was  working,  if 
slowly  and  heavily  still. 

His  hut  lay  on  the  edge  of  the  moss  toward  the  forest 
land.  If  he  could  get  safely  off  the  moss  without 
stumbling  into  another  pitfall,  he  must  find  the  hut 
sooner  or  later  by  travelling  this  way  and  that  along  the 
edge.  But  he  had  no  idea  in  which  direction  the  edge 
of  the  moss  and  the  forest  land  lay.  Whichever  way 
he  went  might  be  the  wrong  one,  and  he  had  no  mind  to 
fall  below  the  ice  again.  So  he  sat  on  his  hummock, 
pondering  dully,  and  steaming  in  the  frosty  air  till 


322  THE   LONG  ROAD 

there  was  a  halo  of  tiny  ice  spicules  falling  all  about 
him. 

And  as  he  sat  peering  into  the  dimness,  this  way  and 
that,  anxiety  to  be  gone  warring  with  fear  of  going  the 
wrong  way  and  so  landing  himself  in  further  difficulties, 
two  very  strange  things  befell  him. 

Out  of  the  dimness  behind  him  some  white-winged 
thing  came  wafting  slowly  along,  its  noiseless  flight 
marked  by  a  misty  halo  of  falling  frost  flakes.  It  came 
close  to  him  and  circled  twice  so  closely  round  his  head 
that  he  could  see  its  great  round  eyes  seeking  hungrily 
if  perchance  he  might  be  good  to  eat. 

It  was  a  great  white  owl,  and  in  some  way,  though  he 
did  not  know  it,  the  sight  of  it  stirred  the  dead  leaves 
of  his  memory,  set  fluttering  the  dark  veil  which  hung 
between  him  and  the  past,  brought  him  nearer  to  him- 
self, through  the  sudden  brain  activity  induced  by  his 
late  exertions,  than  he  had  been  since  the  old  self  fell 
away  from  him. 

The  white  bird  gave  him  up  as  unfit  for  food  and 
winged  silently  away.  Would  it  be  going  toward  the 
shore  or  away  from  it  ?  He  could  not  be  sure. 

But  as  he  still  sat  in  doubt,  his  wandering  eye  lighted 
suddenly  on  a  stealthy  movement  close  beside  him,  and 
he  held  his  breath  and  watched. 

Up  out  of  the  hole  through  which  he  had  just  scram- 
bled came  a  small  white  head,  with  very  long  ears  which 
twitched  spasmodically  to  and  fro,  and  a  nervous 


THE  LONG  ROAD  323 

little  nose  which  discovered  him  instantly,  and  very 
large  outstanding  eyes  which  settled  on  him  doubtfully, 
—  a  little  arctic  hare,  which  had  without  doubt  bur- 
rowed under  the  snow  after  food  and  got  caught 
there. 

The  man  sat  perfectly  still.  He  had  no  thought  of 
harming  his  little  brother  of  the  snows.  The  hare 
hopped  lightly  out,  and  sat  up,  sniffing  eagerly  all 
round,  with  one  eye  still  on  the  smoking  figure  on  top 
of  the  hummock.  Then,  having  apparently  got  its 
bearings,  it  set  off  lightly  across  the  snowy  crust,  and 
the  man  rose  instantly  and  followed  it. 

He  did  not  consciously  reason  the  matter  out  —  that 
the  hare  would  almost  certainly  make  for  the  woods,  and 
that  the  woods  were  where  he  wanted  to  go.  The  hare 
had  come  out  of  the  hole  and  was  making  for  a  safer 
place.  He  had  come  out  of  the  hole  and  did  not  know 
which  way  to  go.  The  hare  evidently  did  know  its 
way,  so  he  followed  it. 

He  kept  to  the  hummocks  as  far  as  possible.  When 
he  came  to  a  hollow  he  skirted  it,  and  so  he  very  soon 
lost  sight  of  his  little  guide. 

The  last  he  saw  of  it,  it  was  sitting  up  on  a  little  height, 
with  its  ears  twitching  anxiously  and  one  eye  upon  him. 
Then  it  scampered  away  and  he  marked  its  direction 
and  followed,  and  presently  found  himself  on  solid 
earth. 

And  then,  as  he  stood  wondering  which  way  to  turn 


324  THE   LONG   ROAD 

for  his  hut,  he  heard  a  muffled  howl  which  for  the  moment 
set  the  blood  jerking  in  his  veins.  And  then  he  recog- 
nised it  as  the  voice  of  one  of  his  wolf-cubs,  and  he  turned 
and  ran  toward  it. 


CHAPTER  LXIII 

THEREAFTER  for  many  days  he  dwelt  in  the  dark, 
with  no  companionship  but  his  wolves,  and  the  occa- 
sional moon,  and  the  steady  stars,  and  now  and  again, 
at  rare  intervals,  those  wonderful  quivering  tongues  of 
fire.  But  all  the  time  his  dull  mind  was  groping  dimly 
for  the  meanings  of  things,  and  was  coming  nearer  and 
nearer  to  that  which  it  sought. 

And  as  his  mind  slowly  awakened,  the  long-continued 
darkness  began  to  tell  on  him  as  it  had  not  done  before. 
He  fell  into  the  shadows.  It  seemed  to  him  that  he  was 
accursed,  and  was  doomed  to  dwell  in  the  outer  cold  and 
dark  for  evermore.  But  whenever  his  stomach  clam- 
oured for  food  he  shredded  mosses  into  his  pot,  and  fed 
himself  and  his  household,  and  so  they  lived. 

Meagre  living,  they  say,  produces  high  thinking. 
This  man's  living  was  but  one  degree  above  starvation. 
Perhaps  it  helped  to  clear  his  brain  of  its  tangles. 

In  the  depth  of  that  long-drawn  Arctic  night  there 
befell  at  last  a  happening  which,  in  more  ways  than  one, 
tended  to  his  upbuilding. 

He  was  sitting  in  his  hut,  slowly  and  painfully  pon- 
dering as  was  his  wont,  when  a  sound  without  pricked 
his  ears  and  set  his  blood  tingling.  It  was  very  faint 

325 


326  THE   LONG   ROAD 

and  distant,  but  he  recognised  it  instantly,  and  instinc- 
tively reached  his  hand  for  his  axe.  The  wolves  at  his 
side  stirred  in  their  sleep,  and  whuffed  uneasily,  as 
though  the  sound  had  penetrated  their  dreams  also. 
He  rose  quietly  and  went  outside,  fastening  the  door 
so  that  they  should  not  follow. 

The  blood  was  jumping  in  his  veins  as  it  had  not 
jumped  for  many  a  day.  As  the  sound  he  had  heard 
came  nearer  and  nearer  along  the  frozen  plain,  he 
recognised  it, — the  short,  eager  yelp  of  wolves  hot  on 
the  chase. 

Wolves  ?  Surely  at  some  time  he  had  fought  wolves. 
The  recollection  of  it  was  very  dim,  but  something  stirred 
within  him,  his  hand  gripped  his  axe  with  new  vigour, 
a  thrill  ran  through  him  from  foot  to  head,  and  he  was 
nearer  to  his  old  self  than  he  had  been  since  the  past 
dropped  from  him. 

He  ran  towards  the  distant  sounds  and  became 
aware  of  a  new  one,  a  quick  "click-click-click,"  and  then 
a  break,  and  then  " click-click-click,"  drawing  rapidly 
towards  him.  And  presently  he  saw  a  dim  form  loom- 
ing large  on  the  twilight  of  the  snow,  with  a  mob  of 
smaller  beasts  yelping  at  its  heels.  Every  now  and 
again  the  hunted  one  would  turn  and  sweep  its  pur- 
suers into  a  snarling  scatter  with  its  head,  and  then  on 
again,  " click-click-click,"  panting  heavily  and  well- 
nigh  spent. 

The  man's  blood  boiled  in  him,  from  the  tips  of  his 


THE  LONG  ROAD  327 

gripping  fingers  to  the  crown  of  his  bursting  head,  as 
he  flung  himself  upon  them.  He  was  all  aflame  with 
the  joy  of  battle  as  he  cleft  through  bone  and  sinew  and 
bristling  fronts  of  shaggy  fur.  They  leaped  at  him  like 
fiends,  with  fetid  pantings  and  furious  gnashings  and 
the  eyes  of  lost  souls,  and  he  laughed  aloud  as  he 
shook  himself  free  of  them  and  stretched  them  one  by 
one  upon  the  snow  till  not  a  single  one  was  left,  for  death 
was  in  the  grip  of  his  fingers  and  the  bite  of  his  axe, 
and  the  strange,  mad  joy  of  slaughter  was  upon  him. 

Then,  when  all  that  could  go  had  fled  and  the  rest 
lay  dead,  he  went  to  look  at  the  hunted  one,  and  found 
it  lying  spent  and  panting,  its  red-tipped  antlers  fur- 
rowing the  snow  with  every  breath.  He  soothed  it 
gently,  and  it  lay  looking  doubtfully  up  at  him  out  of  its 
great  sad  eyes.  It  was  bleeding  in  several  places  from 
the  sharp  fangs  of  the  wolves,  but  the  blood  froze  and 
dried  as  he  looked.  He  delved  into  the  snow  with  his 
axe  and  rooted  up  some  moss,  and  the  poor  beast 
nibbled  it  gratefully.  When  he  turned  to  go,  it  lum- 
bered heavily  to  its  feet  and  followed  him  back  to  his 
hut.  He  gave  it  an  armful  of  moss,  and  it  lay  in  the 
snow  and  ruminated  thoughtfully  on  the  hardships  of 
reindeer  life  and  the  unbridled  appetites  of  wolves. 

And  the  man  could  not  sleep  that  night.  His  blood 
had  been  stirred  beyond  its  wont.  His  brain  was 
quickened  to  new  life.  The  forgotten  past  beat  on  the 
closed  doors  like  a  wild  bird  against  the  bars,  and  he 


328  THE   LONG  ROAD 

came  nearer  to  himself  than  he  had  been  since  the 
curtain  fell. 

His  ill-assorted  family  gave  him  constant  occupation. 
Instinct  and  natural  depravity  sent  his  wolves  leaping 
at  the  newcomer  the  moment  they  set  eyes  on  it,  and  the 
reindeer  received  them  with  lowered  antlers  and  immi- 
nent death.  By  dint  of  chastisement  and  much  scold- 
ing, he  succeeded  in  convincing  the  sharp  noses  that 
deer  meat  was  not  their  portion  in  life,  and  they  patched 
up  an  armed  truce,  and  became  in  time  so  far  accus- 
tomed to  one  another  as  to  live  together  without  fighting. 

Then,  at  last,  the  long  grim  night  began  to  soften 
over  the  distant  forest-lands.  He  watched  it  with  a 
gleam  of  hope.  The  darkness  was  certainly  lightening. 
In  time  the  curse  might  pass. 

And  so  one  time  —  for  there  being  no  day  and  no 
night  he  had  lost  all  count  of  time  —  when  he  crept  out 
of  his  hut,  he  found  daylight  returned  and  the  red  rim 
of  the  sun  peeping  at  him  over  the  distant  hummocks 
of  the  wide  white  plains.  He  fell  on  his  knees  in  the 
snow  and  thanked  God,  in  his  own  way,  for  the  blessed 
sight  of  it.  The  curse  had  passed  and  God  had  not 
forgotten  him. 


CHAPTER  LXIV 

THE  coming  of  the  sun  quickened  all  things  to  new 
life. 

The  moss  land  shook  off  its  thrall  of  ice  and  snow, 
and  gloomed  gray  and  brown  again,  with  here  and  there 
a  feeble  green.  The  stunted  and  misshapen  forest 
trees  broke  out  into  bud  and  leaf.  The  hollows  mir- 
rored clear  blue  skies  in  their  glassy  pools,  and  up  the 
river  and  all  its  shallow  tributaries  the  silver  salmon 
came  leaping,  in  such  strenuous  shoals  that  all  the  waters 
and  even  the  air  above  the  water  were  aglow  with  them, 
and  for  the  man  the  time  of  plenty  had  come.  And  from 
beyond  the  forest-lands  came  flocks  of  birds  so  immense 
that  at  times  the  sky  was  hidden  by  them. 

Everything  sang  of  the  loosing  of  fetters  and  the  joys 
of  freedom.  The  mosses  were  alive,  the  waters  teemed 
with  life  and  laughed  up  at  the  sun,  and  the  air  was  full 
of  the  whirr  and  chatter  of  birds. 

It  was  in  keeping  with  the  natural  resurrection  going 
on  all  about  him  that  the  man  whose  brain  had  been 
so  long  in  bonds  and  darkness  should  drop  his  shackles 
also  and  come  forth  whole  and  free. 

More  than  once  of  late  he  had  come  very  near  to 
-  329 


330  THE  LONG  ROAD 

the  edge  of  the  curtain.  It  had  rustled  in  front  of  him 
as  if  about  to  rise. 

The  quickening  of  the  spring  told  in  him  also.  Per- 
haps the  ampler  faring  helped,  for  now  he  had  but  to 
dip  his  hand  into  one  of  the  shallow  streams  and  seize 
a  fish  and  he  lived  well. 

He  was  like  a  man  whom  some  fact  or  word  or  name 
for  the  moment  eludes.  It  is  on  the  tip  of  his  tongue, 
but  he  cannot  just  grasp  it.  The  slightest  thing  may 
suggest  it,  and  it  was  just  that  slightest  thirfg  that  let 
the  light  into  Stepan  Iline's  darkened  brain. 

He  had  gone  to  pick  up  a  fish  for  his  morning  meal, 
with  his  wolf-cubs  frisking  gaily  at  his  heels.  As  he 
bent  to  the  water,  his  eye  lighted  on  a  bunch  of  frail 
blue  flowers,  the  first  he  had  seen  that  season. 

He  stood  for  a  moment  staring  eagerly  at  them. 
Something  stirred  in  his  brain.  He  fell  on  his  knees 
beside  them  and  murmured,  ''Little  Katenka  !" 

He  gathered  the  flowers,  forgetful  of  his  fish,  and  went 
back  quickly  to  his  hut,  and  there  was  a  new  light  of 
expectancy  in  his  face.  He  looked  in  through  the  open 
door.  The  light  died  out  of  his  face,  and  it  crumpled 
suddenly  with  the  rush  of  his  thronging  thoughts. 

He  drew  his  open  hand  across  his  eyes  and  brow,  as 
though  bodily  lifting  away  the  curtain  behind  which  his 
life  had  lain  so  long.  Then  he  sat  heavily  down,  star- 
ing fixedly  at  the  blue  flowers  in  his  hand. 

And  presently  he  was  lying  on  his  face,  with  his  hands 


THE  LONG  ROAD  331 

clasping  his  aching  head,  as  the  unwonted  thoughts 
came  struggling  into  it.  And  slowly,  slowly,  with  the 
pains  almost  of  a  new  birth,  the  black  veil  drew  off 
from  his  brain  and  the  past  came  back  to  him. 

"Little  Katenka  !  —  Katia  !  —  Baby  Stepan  !"  —  he 
had  them  all  at  last.  Then  —  "  Peter  Krop  !" 

Then  he  got  to  Paschkin,  and  the  blood  boiled 
dangerously  in  his  head.  And  then  he  remembered  — 
Paschkin  was  past,  and  he  recalled  that  other  little 
Katenka,  whose  pleading  face  had  turned  the  edge 
of  his  thirsty  axe,  when  it  could  have  drunk  its  fill  of 
Paschkin. 

Slowly  and  painfully  he  pieced  it  all  together,  with 
many  a  deep  sigh  as  the  harrow  of  awakening  memory 
raked  open  the  old  wounds,  and  bitter  grinding  of  teeth 
at  every  thought  of  Paschkin. 

They  were  all  gone  out  of  his  life,  all  gone. 

Stay !  There  was  Peter  Krop.  Peter  had  been 
good  to  him.  He  wondered  if  he  too  was  dead.  He 
had  been  dead  himself  and  now  he  was  alive  again. 
Perhaps  Old  Peter  was  still  alive.  He  would  go  and  see. 

And  then  and  there,  just  as  he  was,  with  all  the  in- 
consequence of  a  jangled  mind,  he  set  off  in  search  of 
him. 

His  axe  was  in  his  belt,  his  staff  in  his  hand.  He  set 
his  face  to  the  distant  woods,  and  never  once  looked 
back  to  the  house,  which  he  left  with  its  door  standing 
wide. 


332  THE  LONG  ROAD 

His  wolves  bounded  before  him,  delighted  to  be  up 
and  doing.  His  reindeer  followed  like  a  dog. 

So  Stepan  Iline  came  out  of  the  shadows  and  back  to 
his  kind. 


CHAPTER  LXV 

Six  days  later,  with  his  menagerie  toiling  down- 
castly  in  the  rear,  Iline  stumbled  silently  into  an  en- 
campment of  wandering  Samoyedes  in  the  woods. 
He  had  walked  doggedly  on,  looking  neither  to  the 
right  hand  nor  to  the  left,  possessed  of  only  one  idea  and 
living  mostly  in  the  past.  He  had  rested  little  and 
eaten  less,  and  would  undoubtedly  have  dropped  and 
died  before  long  had  he  not  fallen  in  with  the  wanderers. 

They  eyed  him  with  wonder,  but  saw  that  he  was 
starving  and  gave  him  food,  which  made  him  sick  at 
first,  but  presently  strengthened  him.  They  questioned 
him  as  well  as  they  were  able,  and  set  him  down  as 
possessed  when  he  told  them  he  had  passed  the  winter 
alone  in  the  tundra.  As  one  short-witted  but  harmless, 
they  suffered  him  among  them,  and  found  him  of  use, 
whatever  his  lack  might  be.  And,  since  they  were 
sure  to  seek  the  lower  steppes  sooner  or  later,  he  stayed 
with  them  gratefully  and  repaid  them  as  he  could. 

They  were  a  slow-blooded,  none-too-nimble-witted 
race,  their  round  hairless  faces  and  deep  heavy-lidded 
eyes  full  of  cunning,  their  manners  and  customs  as 
debased  as  well  could  be.  But  he  had  nothing  worth 
stealing,  and  now  that  he  had  come  to  himself  he 

333 


334  THE  LONG  ROAD 

craved  human  companionship.  His  soul  in  exile  had 
shunned  its  fellows  and  been  satisfied  with  the  more 
tolerant  beasts.  Now,  even  the  company  of  these 
uncouth  wanderers  was  sweet  to  him. 

One  of  the  occupants  of  the  jurt  in  which  he  was  per- 
mitted a  corner  puzzled  him  for  a  time.  He  sat  at 
meals  with  the  rest,  but  never  seemed  to  eat,  though 
food  was  always  offered  to  him.  Most  of  his  time  was 
spent  in  a  corner  opposite  the  one  Stepan  occupied, 
and  he  sat  there  all  day  long  without  moving  or  speaking. 
He  was  muffled  up  in  reindeer  skins  and  was  evidently 
helpless,  for  he  had  to  be  carried  to  and  from  his  place, 
and  at  night  had  to  be  undressed  and  laid  in  his 
bed. 

Stepan  watched  him  with  compassion.  Here  was  one 
in  worse  case  even  than  himself.  Pity  moved  him  to 
the  proffer  of  service.  When  he  ventured  it,  to  his 
amazement  he  found  its  object  a  wooden  image,  and 
learned  later  that  it  represented  the  head  of  the  family 
who  had  died  two  years  before,  but  was  in  this  strange 
way  kept  still  alive  in  their  memories. 

That  was  one  of  the  least  unpleasant  of  their  many 
curious  customs,  but  they  were  not  without  their  good 
points.  They  were  skilled  hunters  and  trappers, 
hardy  and  courageous  in  the  chase ;  and  when  the  hunt- 
ing was  good,  they  lived  well  and  did  not  grudge  the 
stranger  his  portion.  In  the  handling  of  the  axe  he 
could  beat  them  all,  and  so  repaid  them  in  the  fashion- 


THE   LONG  ROAD  335 

ing  of  household  implements  and  the  tinkering  of  their 
sledges. 

His  chief  troubles  arose  through  his  wolves.  They 
were  very  tame,  but  were  none  the  less  offensive  to 
the  herds  of  reindeer  which  were  the  nomads'  chief 
possessions,  and  he  was  for  ever  having  to  defend  them 
from  the  assaults  of  their  enemies. 

He  excited  his  hosts'  perpetual  astonishment,  too, 
in  the  nicety  of  his  eating,  and  most  especially  in  his 
insistence  upon  cooking  his  food  and  that  of  his  wolves. 
For  themselves,  flesh  was  flesh  and  fish  was  fish,  and 
whether  cooked  or  raw  was  entirely  matter  of  individual 
taste  and  enterprise.  Finally  he  took  to  binding  his 
wolves'  mouths  so  that  they  should  eat  only  what  he  gave 
them,  whereby  they  were  at  a  disadvantage  with  other 
dogs  scarcely  more  domesticated  than  themselves; 
and  many  a  battle  royal  ensued,  till  the  man  built  a 
tiny  jurt  of  his  own  and  let  them  sleep  inside  with 
him,  as  they  had  done  in  the  hut  on  the  moss. 

He  was  very  quiet,  very  silent,  very  gentle,  especially 
with  the  women  and  the  children.  Something  there 
was  about  him  which  attracted  the  latter  beyond  the 
bounds  of  fear  or  shyness,  and  made  him  fellow  to  them 
all.  He  played  with  them,  carried  the*m  on  his  back, 
made  rude  toys  for  them,  nursed  them  when  they  were 
out  of  sorts,  and  never  one  of  them  ever  had  from  him 
harsh  word  or  angry  look.  Whereby  he  unconsciously 
captured  their  mothers'  liking  too,  and  many  a  dainty 


336  THE  LONG  ROAD 

—  such  as  it  was  —  found  its  way  to  the  stranger's 
platter.  Not  that  their  dainties  greatly  appealed  to 
him,  for  habit  had  made  his  requirements  small,  but 
in  every  child  he  found  something  of  his  lost  Katenka, 
and  in  every  woman  a  reminder  of  Katia. 

From  his  silence  and  reserve,  and  the  fact  that  he  had 
come  alone  out  of  the  northern  wilds,  the  men  deemed 
him  first  crazy,  then  possessed,  and  in  the  latter  estate 
were  inclined  to  treat  him  with  somewhat  of  the  awe 
which  was  the  allotted  portion  of  their  own  occasional 
mystery-men.  But  his  unprofessional  lack  of  de- 
mands upon  their  credulity  or  their  pockets  puzzled 
them  exceedingly,  and  their  minds  remained  in 
doubt. 

There  came  a  day,  however,  which  raised  him  high  in 
their  estimation,  and  after  that  they  treated  him  almost 
as  one  of  themselves. 

They  were  travelling  slowly  southwards  through 
interminable  forest-lands,  where  the  trees  grew  so  close 
and  so  tall  that  their  journeying  was  in  perpetual 
twilight.  Their  course  was  slow  and  spasmodic. 
Where  they  camped  and  set  up  their  jurts,  there  they 
stopped  till  their  herds  of  reindeer  had  cleared  the 
neighbourhood  of  sustenance.  Then  they  sought  fresh 
pasturage.  Their  greatest  trouble  was  with  the  wolves 
which  were  still  ranging  the  twilight  woods,  seeking 
what  they  might  devour,  since  it  was  still  too  early  for 
their  daintier  faring  on  baby  sealdom  up  north.  Con- 


THE  LONG  ROAD  337 

stant  watchfulness  was  necessary,  and  in  this  the  stranger 
took  his  full  share. 

One  night,  while  he  was  on  duty  in  the  rough  en- 
closure i-nto  which  the  reindeer  were  always  driven,  it 
was  attacked  by  an  unusually  hungry  pack  of  prowlers. 
The  men  of  the  camp  gathered  hastily  with  their  spears 
to  repel  them.  The  stranger,  with  nothing  but  his 
axe,  leaped  out  among  the  snarling  crew,  and  with 
eager  cries  and  raised  laughter  smote  them  right  and 
left,  with  such  exuberance  of  enjoyment  in  the  slaughter 
as  confirmed  the  onlookers  in  their  belief  in  his  posses- 
sion. Single-handed  he  hacked  and  cleft,  heedless  of 
bitings  and  tearings,  and  so  far  removed  from  thought 
of  fear  that  his  joy  in  the  battle  was  obvious  to  all. 
And  when  the  hungry  yelpers  turned  at  last  and  fled, 
he  pursued  them  with  jeers  and  scornful  cries.  The 
men  of  the  camp  were  tried  hunters,  but  no  man  among 
them  would  have  fought  a  pack  of  hungry  wolves 
single-handed.  A  vast  amazement  entered  into  their 
new  regard  for  him,  so  very  different  was  he  from  the 
gentle  player  with  the  children  they  had  taken  him  to 
be,  and  thereafter  they  looked  upon  him  with  deference 
and  respect. 

What  it  was  that  set  him  to  the  building  of  another 
house  on  wheels  it  would  not  be  easy  to  say.  Possibly 
the  discomforts  of  his  tiny  skin  tent,  and  the  trouble  of 
constantly  taking  it  to  pieces  and  putting  it  together 
again,  possibly  the  desire  for  congenial  occupation. 


338  THE   LONG  ROAD 

Possibly  the  sight  of  tree  trunks  so  symmetrically 
round  that  the  suggestion  of  wheels  in  them  was  in- 
evitable. 

Whatever  the  reason,  the  idea  came  to  him  and  he 
set  to  work  to  carry  it  out.  His  wheels  were  the  result 
of  hundreds  of  years  of  slow  upbuilding  and  of  months 
of  careful  fashioning.  But  once  he  had  them  to  his 
mind,  the  rest  proceeded  apace.  Wood  was  there  for 
the  taking,  but  of  tools  he  had  hardly  any  beyond  his 
axe.  The  outcome  was  strength  rather  than  elegance, 
but  it  served. 

His  hands  were  never  idle,  and  yet  his  small  friends 
were  cognisant  of  no  neglect.  With  patient  persist- 
ence he  hacked  and  chopped  and  shaped,  and  the 
children  sat  watching  the  chips  fly  and  wondered  what 
he  was  making.  Piece  by  piece  he  got  together  the 
framework  of  his  house,  transporting  it,  when  they 
moved  from  place  to  place,  on  the  backs  of  his  reindeer, 
of  which  he  now  owned  half  a  dozen,  the  outcome  of 
the  mingled  feelings  of  the  community  respecting  liis 
valour,  his  good  nature,  and  his  incomprehensibility. 

The  building  did  him  good.  It  occupied  his  mind 
and  strengthened  it  with  long,  deep  thoughts  of  that 
other  house  and  its  occupants.  Those  dearest  ones 
of  all  were  gone,  indeed,  and  could  never  be  replaced. 
He  could  build  a  new  house,  but  he  could  not  people 
it  again,  nor  furnish  it  with  that  perfect  happiness 
which  comes  of  perfect  contentment.  Here  were  other 


THE  LONG  ROAD  339 

helpless  ones,  however,  and  the  treasures  of  a  heart 
that  was  naturally  full  of  tenderness,  but  which  had  been 
warped  and  twisted  by  man's  malignancy,  were  given 
freely  to  these  alien  ones. 

When,  in  due  time,  during  a  longer  halt  than  usual, 
he  at  last  put  his  house  together,  pinning  it  firmly  with 
wooden  bolts  for  lack  of  nails,  and  set  it  on  its  platform 
on  the  wheels,  the  astonishment  of  the  onlookers  was 
great.  Here  surely  was  a  man  beyond  most.  He 
played  with  children  like  a  child,  fought  wolves  in  the 
pack  single-handed,  and  built  houses  on  wheels  the 
like  of  which  neither  they  nor  their  fathers  had  ever 
wildly  dreamed  of. 

He  accustomed  his  reindeer  to  drag  the  house,  and, 
going  or  standing,  from  the  first  turn  of  the  creaking 
wheels,  it  was  rarely  free  of  children.  All  day  long  it 
rang  with  merry  shouts  and  laughter,  but  they  only 
made  him  think  the  more  of  what  he  had  lost,  and  he 
was  gravely  silent  amid  it  all. 

When  the  nomads  met  the  traders  to  bargain  off  their 
accumulated  pelts  for  such  necessaries  and  luxuries 
as  their  wanderings  craved,  the  silent  one  came  to  the 
front  once  more.  Hitherto  the  wily  traders  had  had 
things  very  much  their  own  way,  with  corresponding 
enjoyment  and  profit  to  themselves.  Iline  listened  to 
the  bargaining  for  some  time  in  silence,  but  he  had  had 
too  much  business  experience  not  to  perceive  the  dis- 
advantages under  which  his  rustic  friends  laboured, 


340  THE  LONG  ROAD 

and  was  too  friendly  disposed  toward  them  not  to  resent 
it. 

He  stepped  quietly  into  the  trafficking,  and  took  their 
interests  in  hand  in  a  way  that  set  many  eyes  on  both 
sides  wider  than  their  wont.  His  friends  got  half 
as  much  again  for  their  goods  as  they  had  ever  got 
before,  and  Stepan  Iline  became  a  man  of  still  greater 
consequence  among  them.  In  such  very  high  esteem 
was  he  held,  indeed,  that  when  in  the  course  of  their 
regular  wanderings  they  set  their  faces  to  the  east, 
and  he  would  have  gone  on  to  the  south,  they  could  not 
bring  themselves  to  the  parting,  and  at  last  succeeded 
in  getting  him  to  stay  with  them  for  a  time  longer. 

After  all,  there  was  much  to  induce  him  thereto. 
It  was  a  life  of  absolute  freedom,  secure  in  the  immensity 
of  its  range  from  any  possible  interference  from  police, 
governor,  or  Tzar.  His  position  in  the  little  community 
was  one  of  honour,  his  influence  great,  and  the  results 
visible  already  in  the  more  reputable  habits  which  his 
life  among  them  had  inspired. 

Perhaps  the  most  remarkable  outward  manifestation 
of  his  unconscious  influence  and  their  upward  progress 
was  the  spirit  of  emulation  which  set  them  all  to  the 
construction  of  caravans  similar  to  his  own.  He  did 
his  best  to  dissuade  them,  pointing  out  that  he  had 
built  his  for  travelling  south  over  the  steppes,  and  that 
for  their  winter  journeyings  over  the  snow  and  through 
the  forest- lands  their  own  methods  were  the  best. 


THE  LONG  ROAD  341 

But  they  were  like  children  after  new  toys  and  would 
not  be  put  off,  and  so  long  as  they  kept  to  the  steppes 
they  found  their  houses  on  wheels  all  that  they  had 
hoped.  When  the  winter  came,  and  they  took  to  the 
woods  after  pelts  and  furs,  they  found  his  views  were 
right,  and  finally  they  left  their  caravans  all  in  a  row  on 
the  border  of  the  forest-lands  to  be  picked  up  on  their 
return  in  the  spring. 

For  over  a  year  he  lived  with  them,  sharing  all  their 
labours  of  the  chase  and  of  the  road,  to  their  great 
content  and  greatly  to  his  own  upbuilding  and  strength- 
ening. And  then,  when  their  faces  were  once  more  set 
to  the  south,  the  longing  came  over  him  again  for  Peter 
Krop  and  the  old  life,  in  spite  of  all  its  limitations  and 
restraints. 

He  saw  them  advantageously  through  their  trafficking 
once  more,  and  then,  in  spite  of  all  they  could  urge, 
exchanged  his  reindeer  —  a  goodly  herd  by  this  time  — 
for  a  couple  of  horses,  and  with  his  own  collection  of 
skins  and  furs  as  the  basis  of  a  new  start  in  life, 
bade  them  farewell,  and  laid  his  lonely  course  for  the 
Yenisei. 

The  men  and  women  stood  gazing  gloomily  after  him 
till  he  was  out  of  sight,  and  the  children  wept  aloud  at 
his  going  and  missed  him  sorely  for  many  a  day.'  Hav- 
ing known  no  other  life,  they  could  not  understand  why 
he  should  want  to  leave  them,  and  if  he  had  tried  to 
make  it  clear  to  them  he  could  not  have  done  so.  With 


342  THE   LONG   ROAD 

them  he  had  everything  man  could  want,  —  honour,  in- 
fluence, comparative  wealth,  —  and  he  was  going  back 
to  the  narrower  life  of  the  made  roads  and  villages,  to 
the  arbitrary  control  of  authority,  to  the  bonds  of  civil- 
ised life,  —  to  Peter  Krop. 

It  was  the  thought  of  old  Peter,  the  man  who  had 
befriended  him  in  his  need,  that  drew  him  back.  If 
Peter  should  be  dead,  like  all  the  rest  of  those  he  had 
loved,  he  would  come  back,  he  said  to  himself,  and  live 
and  die  with  these  newer  friends  in  the  wilderness. 

And  so  he  waved  his  last  farewells  to  the  wanderers 
and  set  his  face  steadily  to  the  Yenisei. 


CHAPTER  LXVI 

IT  was  more  than  three  years  since  Stepan  Iline  had 
disappeared  so  strangely  from  Krasnoiarsk,  when  Peter 
Krop,  lying  peacefully  in  the  door  of  his  travelling 
house  as  it  jogged  slowly  northward  along  the  border 
toward  Terchinsk  one  evening,  got  a  surprise  which 
he  never  quite  got  over. 

For,  coming  along  the  road  from  the  opposite  direc- 
tion, he  saw  in  the  distance  another  house  on  wheels, 
so  like  his  own  that  for  a  time  he  believed  himself  to 
be  dreaming.  By  its  side  walked  a  man,  and  to  and 
fro,  before  and  behind,  bounded  a  couple  of  huge,  long- 
legged  brown  dogs  with  bushy  tails.  Peter  looked  at 
them  again  and  thought  they  were  wolves,  and  when 
they  came  near  he  was  sure  of  it,  and  so  were  his 
horses. 

But  he  had  little  time  to  give  to  them  just  then,  for 
the  man  who  strode  by  the  side  of  his  team,  with  a 
long,  firm  step  that  told  of  strength,  waved  his  hand  to 
him,  and  came  running  along  with  the  bounding  beasts 
at  his  side,  and  Peter's  horses  snorted  at  the  near 
sight  and  smell  of  them. 

" Stepan  Iline!  Is  it  possible?"  cried  old  Peter, 
with  raised  hands.  "Now,  God  be  praised!  I 
thought  you  dead." 

343 


344  THE   LONG  ROAD 

"I  have  been  dead,  but  am  come  to  life  again,"  said 
Stepan. 

" Where  have  you  been?"  asked  old  Peter,  in  vast 
amazement. 

"I  have  been  among  the  northern  men  who  live  on 
the  edge  of  the  great  moss-land.  But  for  how  long  I 
do  not  know." 

"It  is  over  three  years  since  you  went  away." 

"Three  years  !"  said  Stepan,  musingly.  "That  is  a 
long  time  to  be  dead.  But  they  have  been  quiet  years, 
and  now  I  am  alive  again,"  and  old  Peter  regarded  him 
gravely. 

"I  do  not  think  I  am  out  of  my  mind,  Peter  Petro- 
vitch,"  said  Stepan.  "But  when  one  has  been  dead 
three  years,  one  does  not  come  back  all  at  once." 

"And  what  have  you  been  doing  up  there  all  the 
time?" 

"For  much  of  the  time  I  do  not  know.  But  since 
then  I  have  built  my  house.  The  wheels  are  not  good, 
but  I  will  get  better  ones.  You  see,  when  I  came  to 
life,  I  knew  the  time  would  come  when  I  must  keep 
moving  on  again.  A  dead  man  may  rest  in  peace,  but 
when  one  is  alive  one  must  keep  moving  on." 

"But  you  will  stop  with  me  now,  Stepan  Ivanovitch," 
said  Peter  Krop,  with  a  great  longing  swimming  in  his 
dark  eyes. 

And  Stepan,  seeing  how  old  and  lonely  he  looked, 
said:  "Yes,  I  will  stop  with  you,  Peter  Petrovitch,  as 


THE  LONG  ROAD  345 

long  as  I  may.  And  that  is  what  I  came  for,  but  I 
must  keep  moving  on,  you  know." 

"I  will  move  on  too,"  said  the  old  man,  and  thence- 
forward they  journeyed  in  company. 

"I  have  something  of  thine  inside  here,"  said  old 
Peter,  suddenly,  as  they  sat  side  by  side  on  the  front 
seat  of  his  caravan,  as  being  the  smoother  goer  of  the 
two. 

" What  then?" 

"Up  there  in  the  corner,"  said  the  old  man,  with  a 
backward  jerk  of  the  shoulder. 

And  Stepan,  peering  in,  encountered  the  solemn  gaze 
of  a  pair  of  great,  round  eyes,  and  scrambled  quickly 
inside. 

"It  is  the  little  white  brother,"  he  said  huskily,  over- 
come with  the  crowding  thoughts  the  sight  of  the  little 
one  evoked.  And  he  lifted  him  gently  down  from  his 
perch  alongside  the  holy  images,  and  stroked  him 
tenderly,  and  the  little  brother  bit  his  finger  softly  by 
way  of  greeting. 

"Philip  Alexandrovitch,  of  the  inn  at  Krasnoiarsk, 
said  you  left  him  in  his  care,  and  he  had  fed  him  each 
day.  But  he  was  very  sad  when  first  I  found  him. 
He  has  been  happier  since  we  have  been  on  the  road," 
said  Peter,  when  Stepan  had  come  back  and  sat  down 
beside  him.  And  they  rode  for  a  long  while  in 
silence. 

"It  seems  strange,  you  know,  Peter  Petrovitch,  that 


346  THE   LONG  ROAD 

the  little  brother  should  live  when  all  the  others  are 
gone,"  said  Stepan,  musingly,  after  a  long  time. 

"It  is  the  will  of  God,"  said  old  Peter,  quietly. 

Bit  by  bit,  as  they  rode  together  and  sat  over  their 
fire  of  a  night,  Peter  drew  from  him  what  he  remem- 
bered of  the  past  three  years.  It  was  not  much  nor 
very  connected,  but  Peter's  shrewd  wits  were  able  to 
fill  in  some  of  the  gaps. 

Stepan  told  him,  somewhat  shamefacedly,  of  how  he 
had  had  Paschkin  under  his  axe  and  let  him  go. 

"But  I  could  not  kill  him  unless  I  killed  the  child 
first,  Peter  Krop,"  he  said  deprecatingly.  "And  I  could 
not  kill  the  child,  no,  not  if  it  had  been  to  save  my  own 
life.  She  was  so  very  like  my  own  little  Katenka." 

"You  did  quite  right,"  said  Peter,  slowly.  "Your 
soul  will  sleep  the  quieter  that  his  blood  is  not  on  your 
hands.  He  is  dead." 

"Paschkin  is  dead?"  said  Stepan,  with  a  kindling 
of  the  eye. 

"He  was  killed  by  the  Cossacks  whom  he  tried  to 
put  down  with  an  overstrong  hand." 

"And  the  little  Katenka?" 

"I  have  never  even  heard  speak  of  her.  You  are 
quite  sure  —  Stepan  Ivanovitch  — "  he  began. 

"Quite  sure  she  was  real?"  said  Stepan,  soberly. 
"She  was  real  enough  to  turn  my  axe,  which  had 
thirsted  seven  years  for  Paschkin's  blood,  Peter  Petro- 
vitch." 


THE  LONG  ROAD  347 

"It  may  have  been  an  angel  sent  by  God  to  save 
you  from  the  shedding  of  blood,"  said  old  Peter, 
thoughtfully. 

"Undoubtedly!  But  all  the  same  she  came  with 
Paschkin,  which  is  strange  to  think  of,  and  she  stayed 
with  him,  which  is  stranger  still." 

Old  Peter,  in  his  own  mind,  was  doubtful,  but  he 
knew  better  than  to  say  so.  Whatever  Stepan's  state 
of  mind  had  been  during  the  years  he  was  "dead,"  it 
was  sound  enough  now,  though  slightly  out  of  touch 
with  things,  as  was  but  natural. 

Stepan's  wolves  were  for  a  time  a  source  of  dis- 
quietude to  old  Peter,  as  they  were  to  his  horses.  But 
Stepan  in  his  quaint  way  explained  them  thus :  — 

"They  are  a  part  of  myself,  Peter  Petrovitch.  When 
everything  else  went  from  me,  that  night  in  the  snow, 
these  were  given  to  me  to  care  for.  When  all  that  had 
been  in  my  heart  died  out  of  it  because  Paschkin  still 
lived,  these  two  lay  in  my  bosom,  and  I  have  come  to 
love  them.  They  were  with  me  in  the  moss-land,  and 
they  were  all  I  had.  They  do  not  know  they  are 
wolves,  and  they  have  never  eaten  raw  in  their  lives. 
I  can  see  their  mother's  eyes  yet  as  I  chopped  her  in 
two  while  she  ate  to  feed  them.  She  was  only  a  wolf, 
but  yet  she  was  a  mother,  and  I  cannot  forget  her.  If 
ever  they  learn  they  are  wolves,  I  may  have  to  kill  them, 
but  I  hope  they  will  not,  for  I  love  them." 

At  times  he  spoke  of  Katia,  and  little  Katenka,  and 


348  THE   LONG  ROAD 

Baby  Stepan,  and  of  the  happy  times  they  had  had 
together,  and  for  every  Katia  and  Katenka  and  Stepan 
he  came  across  on  their  rounds  he  had  kindly  words 
and  little  gifts. 

Those  names  opened  his  heart  and  his  hand,  and  as 
the  names  were  as  good  as  any  others  and  gifts  in  that 
land  were  rare,  it  came  to  pass  that  all  along  the  routes 
he  travelled,  Katias,  Katenkas,  and  Stepans  sprang  up 
like  flowers  round  a  spongy  hollow  of  the  steppe.  And 
when  they  saw  him  coming  they  ran  to  meet  him  with 
merry  shouts  and  open  arms,  and  he  gathered  them 
all  in,  a  rich  harvest  to  a  heart  that  had  well-nigh  died 
of  starvation. 

Old  Peter  watched  it  all  with  dry  smiles  and  kindly 
eyes.  It  was  against  his  principles  to  give  anything 
for  nothing,  and  he  was  naturally  of  a  somewhat  mis- 
trustful nature.  But  he  saw  that  it  gladdened  Stepan's 
heart  and  he  would  not  interfere  with  his  bargaining, 
unprofitable  though  it  was  from  a  worldly  point  of  view. 
This  man  was  to  him  as  the  son  returned  to  his  father, 
and  he  would  deny  him  nothing. 

He  tried  hard  to  get  Paschkin's  decree  reversed,  now 
that  Paschkin  was  dead.  But  it  was  no  one's  business 
to  reverse  it,  and  no  one  would  take  it  upon  himself 
to  do  so,  and  at  last  he  gave  it  up. 

The  first  time  Stepan  found  himself  within  reach  of 
Orkaorsk,  away  down  in  the  south  of  Tomsk,  he 
journeyed  thither  and  unburdened  himself  of  a  debt. 


THE   LONG  ROAD  349 

He  found  out  the  relatives  of  Ignat  Festal  and  restored 
to  them  the  money  he  had  found  on  Festal' s  dead  body, 
and  a  liberal  allowance  for  his  horses.  And  Pestal's 
relatives,  not  at  all  understanding  the  matter,  but  under- 
standing perfectly  the  value  of  money,  rejoiced  greatly 
and  did  not  mourn  unduly  over  Ignat,  who  had  wasted 
his  substance  in  too  copious  libations  and  had  been 
something  of  a  nuisance. 


CHAPTER  LXVII 

As  soon  as  the  first  snows  fell,  Stepan  insisted  on  old 
Peter  laying  up  in  winter  quarters.  Then,  having  seen 
him  comfortably  settled,  he  set  off  again  with  his  own 
old  house  and  his  wolves,  and  sometimes  Peter  never 
set  eyes  on  him  for  months.  And  when  he  did  come 
back,  if  the  house  on  wheels  could  have  talked,  it 
would  have  had  strange  stories  to  tell. 

For  wherever  Stepan  heard  of  raidings  by  the  bloody 
fangs,  there  he  went.  And  whenever  he  could  come 
across  them,  he  fought  them,  with  gun  and  spear  and 
axe,  as  no  man  ever  fought  them  before. 

And  the  Katias  and  Katenkas  and  Stepans  of  the 
marches  would  have  fled  if  they  had  seen  him  then. 
For  he  fought  as  one  possessed  —  Berserk  he  fought, 
with  wild  shouts  of  laughter  and  derisive  cries,  while 
he  shore  through  bristling  ruffs  and  gnashing  teeth 
and  eyes  like  hungry  devils,  as  they  leaped  at  his 
throat.  And  he  felt  once  more  the  fierce  lust  of  slaughter 
and  the  mad  thrill  that  ran  through  leg  and  loin  as  they 
tightened  to  the  fight,  through  hand  and  arm,  through 
muscle  and  sinew,  right  up  into  his  brain,  and  he  lived 
life  at  its  keenest  in  the  face  of  leaping  death  and  felt 
the  deaths  die  out  close  under  his  hand. 

350 


THE  LONG  ROAD  351 

At  such  times  he  was  scarcely  human,  but  it  made 
for  quietness  at  other  times.  For,  once  his  rage  was 
spent,  he  was  all  man  again;  and  he  came  back  to 
Peter  Krop,  scarred  and  torn  on  the  outside,  indeed, 
but  gentle  and  kindly  within.  And  all  the  spring  and 
summer  and  autumn  they  jogged  quietly  along  their 
accustomed  rounds,  and  the  village  folk  welcomed 
them  everywhere,  and  all  the  little  Katias  and  Katenkas 
and  Stepans  ran  to  meet  the  house  on  wheels  with  open 
arms  and  shouts  of  happy  laughter. 

Time  came  when  Peter  Krop  received  his  call,  and 
when  he  lay  dying  in  the  old  house  on  wheels  which 
had  known  Katia  and  little  Katenka  and  Baby  Stepan, 
he  gave  Stepan  his  blessing,  and  told  him  where  his 
money  was  bestowed  and  how  to  lay  hands  upon  it. 

"You  will  not  make  it  grow,"  he  said,  smiling  a 
little  sadly  at  the  thought. 

"Yea,  but  I  will,  Peter  Petrovitch." 

"Ay,  I  know  —  in  your  own  way.  And  you  might 
so  easily  make  twenty,  thirty  per  cent  on  it." 

"I  will  do  better  than  that." 

"Well,  it  is  yours,  my  son.  Do  with  it  as  you  will, 
but  you  will  never  be  a  rich  man." 

"I  am  richer  than  most  already,  and  now  I  shall  be 
richer  still." 

But  old  Peter  knew  in  what  his  riches  consisted,  and 
he  only  smiled  and  shook  his  head  at  such  unbusiness- 
like notions. 


352  THE  LONG  ROAD 

"Do  with  it  as  you  will,"  he  said  again.  "I  thank 
God  who  brought  us  together.  Lay  me  by  your  wife 
and  the  little  ones  on  the  hillside  by  Chernsk.  Per- 
haps, in  the  mercy  of  God,  we  shall  all  meet 
again." 

And  Stepan  buried  him  there  as  he  had  wished,  with 
the  two  wolves  gambolling  in  the  first  thin  flurries  of 
the  winter's  snow  as  mourners. 

He  fought  their  kinsfolk  of  the  steppes  more  fiercely 
than  ever  that  winter,  but  left  themselves  in  charge  of 
Gnut  of  the  hut  on  the  river  bank,  with  strict  injunctions 
to  feed  them  nothing  raw  and  to  see  that  they  got  no 
fishbones. 

And  in  the  spring,  with  cooled  blood  and  clear  eyes, 
he  journeyed  to  Krasnoiarsk  and  bought  him  bells,  a 
deep,  clear  " crimson"  in  the  middle,  which  he  called 
Katia,  and  two  silvery  chimers  at  the  sides,  which  he 
called  little  Katenka  and  Baby  Stepan,  and  when  the 
sound  of  them  rang  out,  sweet  and  plaintive  along  the 
steppes  and  up  the  valleys,  all  their  little  namesakes 
ran  out  to  greet  them  and  him  with  open  arms  and 
shouts  of  merry  laughter. 

As  Peter  Krop  had  foretold,  he  did  not  make  the 
money  grow  as  Peter  himself  would  have  done,  but,  as 
he  had  foretold  himself,  he  reaped  a  mighty  harvest  of 
a  different  kind,  cent  per  cent  and  more,  in  the  joy  of 
giving,  and  never  regretted  the  other. 

The  mothers  used  laughingly  to  tell  him  that  he  was 


THE   LONG  ROAD  353 

growing  closer  in  his  dealings  as  he  grew  older.  But 
that,  he  told  them,  was  for  their  good,  since,  unless  they 
paid  proper  prices,  they  would  never  know  the  value 
of  money.  And  if  he  took  with  one  hand  he  gave 
with  the  other  —  to  those  who  could  not  buy. 

When  the  Katias  and  Katenkas  grew  up  to  years  of 
indiscretion,  and  married  the  Stepans  who  could  barely 
support  them,  there  came  simple  additions  to  the 
meagre  furnishings  of  the  callow  nests,  from  the  same 
open  hand  that  had  furnished  shoubkas  and  capotes 
and  shoes  to  growing  boys  and  girls. 

When  the  never-failing  babies  came,  from  the  same 

observant  hand  came  cradles  and  gear,  and  the  babies 

were  naturally  all  Katias  —  and  thereby  all  Katenkas 

-  or  Stepans.     So  that  all  that  country  side  is  full  of 

Katias  and  Stepans  to  this  day. 

And  that  which  had  been  imposed  as  a  curse  distilled 
itself  in  blessing,  and  Stepan  Iline  through  strait  doors 
entered  into  a  wide  place. 

While  he  lived  he  was  an  institution.  When  he  died 
he  became  a  legend. 

Never  once  did  he  set  foot  in  Irkutsk  after  Katia 
joined  him,  and  never  once  did  he  remain  longer  than 
ten  days  in  any  one  place,  except  that  time  when  they 
were  snowed  up  in  the  hills  beyond  Chernsk,  and  again 
during  that  blank  space  when  he  lost  count  of  time  and 
lived  alone  on  the  great  moss-land  and  among  the 
wanderers  of  the  twilight  woods. 

2  A 


354  THE  LONG  ROAD 

He  died,  as  he  had  lived,  on  the  road.  And,  literally, 
on  the  move. 

For  one  day  the  sweet-toned  bells  rang  out  his 
coming,  and  the  children  ran  to  greet  the  white-haired 
old  man  with  open  arms  and  shouts  of  merry  laughter, 
and  for  once  he  did  not  answer  them.  They  trooped 
along  beside  the  house  on  wheels  in  murmuring  sur- 
prise, till  their  elders  came,  and  stopped  the  horses, 
and  climbed  inside,  and  found  him  lying  dead,  with  a 
smile  on  his  face,  and,  in  the  breast  of  his  sheepskin 
coat,  a  little  white  owl,  which  blinked  feebly  and 
pecked  remonstratively  at  those  who,  for  his  own  good, 
drew  him  gently  out.  But  the  wolves  which  used  to 
frolic  in  front  of  the  horses  were  gone,  and  they  were 
never  seen  again. 

He  had  turned  his  horses  toward  Chernsk  when  he 
felt  the  end  coming,  and  they  buried  him  out  on  the 
hillside  by  the  side  of  those  he  loved. 

But  the  little  white  brother  lived  on  in  that  village 
for  many  years,  cared  for  by  all,  and  died  at  last  full 
of  wisdom  and  honour.  And  the  boy  who  would  have 
dared  to  throw  stick  or  stone  at  Stepan  Iline's  little 
white  owl  would  have  repented  the  deed  in  sackcloth 
and  ashes,  and  would  not  have  sat  down  in  comfort  for 
very  many  days. 

And  the  mothers  of  that  country  still  tell  to  wide- 
eyed  little  Katenkas  and  Stepans  the  stories  they  heard 
from  their  mothers,  which  they  again  heard  from  their 


THE   LONG   ROAD  355 

mothers,  and  they  from  theirs  —  as  far  back  as  you 
please  —  of  the  strange,  good  Stepan  Iline,  who  travelled 
the  land  in  a  house  on  wheels,  with  two  gaunt  brown 
wolves  bounding  before  him,  and  a  little  white  owl 
on  its  perch  inside,  and  never  stopped  anywhere,  yet 
brought  a  blessing  wherever  he  went. 

And  sometimes,  when  the  wind  is  howling  round  the 
wooden  roofs,  little  ears  are  on  the  strain,  and  little 
fingers  go  to  little  lips,  and  little  hopeful  voices  say, 
"S-s!  I  hear  the  bells  of  Stepan  Iline!"  and  they 
wish  they  had  lived  in  the  times  when  his  bells  rang 
out  along  the  steppes  and  all  the  children  ran  to  meet 
him. 

For  the  very  earliest  thing  they  remember,  when  they 
were  nothing  but  little  round  bundles,  with  little  round 
buttons  for  noses,  and  little  blue  dots  for  eyes,  was 
this :  — 

Whisht,  Baby !    Whisht ! 

Quick  below  the  cover ! 

Down  into  your  nest,  my  bird ! 

And  —  don't  —  you  —  dare  —  peep  —  over! 

For  the  gray  wolves  they  are  prowling, 

They  are  prowling,  they  are  prowling. 

And  the  snow  wind  it  is  howling, 

It  is  howling,  it  is  howling. 

Hark!  — Hark! - 

Out  there  in  the  dark  — 

Ow  —  ooh !    Ow  —  ooh ! 

S-s-s-s-s-seee  —  oo  —  ooh ! 

And  the  wolves  they  are  lean, 

So-o-o  lean,  so-o-o  lean  ! 


356  THE  LONG  ROAD 

And  the  wind  it  is  keen, 

So-o-o  keen,  so-o-o  keen ! 

And  they  seek  little  babies  who  aren't  sleeping ! 

But  lie  you  still,  my  Baby  dear ! 

Lie  still,  lie  still,  and  maybe  you'll  hear  — 

Hark!  — Hark!  — 

Out  there  in  the  dark,  — 

The  silver  bells  and  the  golden  bells, 

The  swinging  bells  and  the  singing  bells,  — 

The  bells  that  are  heard  but  never  are  seen, 

The  wind  and  the  wolves,  and  the  bells  in  between, 

The  bells  of  Iline, 

Good  Stepan  Iline,  — 

The  bells  of  good  Stepan 

Iline! 


The  following  pages  are  advertisements  of 
THE  MACMILLAN  STANDARD  LIBRARY 
THE  MACMILLAN  FICTION  LIBRARY 
THE  MACMILLAN  JUVENILE  LIBRARY 


THE  MACMILLAN  STANDARD  LIBRARY 


This  series  has  taken  its  place  as  one  of  the  most  important  popular- 
priced  editions.  The  "  Library  "  includes  only  those  books  which  have 
been  put  to  the  test  of  public  opinion  and  have  not  been  found  wanting, 
—  books,  in  other  words,  which  have  come  to  be  regarded  as  standards 
in  the  fields  of  knowledge  —  literature,  religion,  biography,  history,  poli- 
tics, art,  economics,  sports,  sociology,  and  belles  lettres.  Together  they 
make  the  most  complete  and  authoritative  works  on  the  several  subjects. 


Each  volume,  cloth,  12mo,  50  cents  net;  postage,  10  cents  extra 


Addams  —  The  Spirit  of  Youth  and  the  City  Streets 

BY  JANE  ADDAMS 

"  Shows  such  sanity,  such  breadth  and  tolerance  of  mind,  and  such 
penetration  into  the  inner  meanings  of  outward  phenomena  as  to  make 
it  a  book  which  no  one  can  afford  to  miss." — New  York  Times. 

Bailey  —  The  Country  Life  Movement  in  the  United  States 

BY  L.  H.  BAILEY 

"...  clearly  thought  out,  admirably  written,  and  always  stimulating 
in  its  generalization  and  in  the  perspectives  it  opens." — Philadelphia 
Press. 

Bailey  and  Hunn  —  The  Practical  Garden  Book 
BY  L.  H.  BAILEY  AND  C.  E.  HUNN 

"  Presents  only  those  facts  that  have  been  proved  by  experience,  and 
which  are  most  capable  of  application  on  the  farm."  —  Los  Angeles 
Express. 

Campbell  —  The  New  Theology 

BY  R.  J.  CAMPBELL 

"A  fine  contribution  to  the  better  thought  of  our  times  written  in  the 
spirit  of  the  Master."  —  St.  Paul  Dispatch. 

Clark  —  The  Care  of  a  House 

BY  T.  M.  CLARK 

"  If  the  average  man  knew  one-ninth  of  what  Mr.  Clark  tells  him  in 
this  book,  he  would  be  able  to  save  money  every  year  on  repairs,  etc." 
—  Chicago  Tribune. 

3 


Conyngton  —  How  to  Help  :  A  Manual  of  Practical  Charity 
BY  MARY  CONYNGTON 

"  An  exceedingly  comprehensive  work  with  chapters  on  the  homeless 
man  and  woman,  care  of  needy  families,  and  the  discussions  of  the  prob- 
lems of  child  labor." 

Coolidge  —  The  United  States  as  a  World  Power 

BY  ARCHIBALD  GARY  COOLIDGE 

"  A  work  of  real  distinction  .  .  .  which  moves  the  reader  to  thought." 
—  The  Nation. 

Croly  —  The  Promise  of  American  Life 

BY  HERBERT  CROLY 

"  The  most  profound  and  illuminating  study  of  our  national  conditions 
which  has  appeared  in  many  years."  —  THEODORE  ROOSEVELT. 

Devine  —  Misery  and  Its  Causes 

BY  EDWARD  T.  DEVINE 

"  One  rarely  comes  across  a  book  so  rich  in  every  page,  yet  so  sound, 
so  logical,  and  thorough." — Chicago  Tribune. 

Earle  —  Home  Life  in  Colonial  Days 

BY  ALICE  MORSE  EARLE 
"A  book  which  throws  new  light  on  our  early  history." 

Ely  —  Evolution  of  Industrial  Society 

BY  RICHARD  T.  ELY 

"  The  benefit  of  competition  and  the  improvement  of  the  race,  mu- 
nicipal ownership,  and  concentration  of  wealth  are  treated  in  a  sane, 
helpful,  and  interesting  manner." — Philadelphia  Telegraph. 

Ely  — Monopolies  and  Trusts 

BY  RICHARD  T.  ELY 

"  The  evils  of  monopoly  are  plainly  stated,  and  remedies  are  proposed. 
This  book  should  be  a  help  to  every  man  in  active  business  life."  — 
Baltimore  Sun. 

French  — How  to  Grow  Vegetables 

BY  ALLEN  FRENCH 

"  Particularly  valuable  to  a  beginner  in  vegetable  gardening,  giving 
not  only  a  convenient  and  reliable  planting- table,  but  giving  particular 
attention  to  the  culture  of  the  vegetables." — Suburban  Life. 

4 


Goodyear  —  Renaissance  and  Modern  Art 

W.  H.  GOODYEAR 
"A  thorough  and  scholarly  interpretation  of  artistic  development." 

Hapgood  —  Abraham  Lincoln :  The  Man  of  the  People 

BY  NORMAN  HAPGOOD 

"A  life  of  Lincoln  that  has  never  been  surpassed  in  vividness,  com- 
pactness, and  homelike  reality."  —  Chicago  Tribune. 

Haultain  —  The  Mystery  of  Golf 

BY  ARNOLD  HAULTAIN 

"It  is  more  than  a  golf  book.  These  is  interwoven  with  it  a  play  of 
mild  philosophy  and  of  pointed  wit."  — Boston  Globe. 

Hearn  —  Japan :  An  Attempt  at  Interpretation 

BY  LAFCADIO  HEARN 

"A  thousand  books  have  been  written  about  Japan,  but  this  one  is 
one  of  the  rarely  precious  volumes  which  opens  the  door  to  an  intimate 
acquaintance  with  the  wonderful  people  who  command  the  attention  of 
the  world  to-day."  — Boston  Herald. 

Hillis  —  The  Quest  of  Happiness 

BY  REV.  NEWELL  DWIGHT  HILLIS 

"  Its  whole  tone  and  spirit  is  of  a  sane,  healthy  optimism." — Phila- 
delphia Telegraph. 

Hillquit  —  Socialism  in  Theory  and  Practice 

BY  MORRIS  HILLQUIT 

"An  interesting  historical  sketch  of  the  movement."  —  Newark  Even- 
ing News. 

Hodges  —  Everyman's  Religion 

BY  GEORGE  HODGES 

"  Religion  to-day  is  preeminently  ethical  and  social,  and  such  is  the 
religion  so  ably  and  attractively  set  forth  in  these  pages." — Boston 
Herald. 

Home  —  David  Livingstone 

BY  SILVESTER  C.  HORNE 

The  centenary  edition  of  this  popular  work.  A  clear,  simple,  narra- 
tive biography  of  the  great  missionary,  explorer,  and  scientist. 

5 


Hunter  —  Poverty 

BY  ROBERT  HUNTER 

"  Mr.  Hunter's  book  is  at  once  sympathetic  and  scientific.  He  brings 
to  the  task  a  store  of  practical  experience  in  settlement  work  gathered 
in  many  parts  of  the  country." — Boston  Transcript. 

Hunter  —  Socialists  at  Work 

BY  ROBERT  HUNTER 

"  A  vivid,  running  characterization  of  the  foremost  personalities  in  the 
Socialist  movement  throughout  the  world."  —  Review  of  Reviews. 

Jefferson  —  The  Building  of  the  Church 

BY  CHARLES  E.  JEFFERSON 
"  A  book  that  should  be  read  by  every  minister." 

King  —  The  Ethics  of  Jesus 

BY  HENRY  CHURCHILL  KING 

"  I  know  no  other  study  of  the  ethical  teaching  of  Jesus  so  scholarly, 
so  careful,  clear  and  compact  as  this."  —  G.  H.  PALMER,  Harvard  Uni- 
versity. 

King — Rational  Living 

BY  HENRY  CHURCHILL  KING 

"An  able  conspectus  of  modern  psychological  investigation,  viewed 
from  the  Christian  standpoint."  — Philadelphia  Public  Ledger. 

London  —  The  War  of  the  Classes 

BY  JACK  LONDON 

"  Mr.  London's  book  is  thoroughly  interesting,  and  his  point  of  view 
is  very  different  from  that  of  the  closest  theorist." — Springfield  Repub- 
lican. 

London  —  Revolution  and  Other  Essays 

BY  JACK  LONDON 
"  Vigorous,  socialistic  essays,  animating  and  insistent." 

Lyon  —  How  to  Keep  Bees  for  Profit 

BY  EVERETT  D.  LYON 

"  A  book  which  gives  an  insight  into  the  life  history  of  the  bee  family, 
as  well  as  telling  the  novice  how  to  start  an  apiary  and  care  for  it."  — 
Country  Life  in  America. 

6 


McLennan  —  A  Manual  of  Practical  Farming 

BY  JOHN  MCLENNAN 

"The  author  has  placed  before  the  reader  in  the  simplest  terms  a 
means  of  assistance  in  the  ordinary  problems  of  farming."  —  National 
Nurseryman. 

Mabie  —  William  Shakespeare:  Poet,  Dramatist,  and  Man 

BY  HAMILTON  W.  MABIE 
"  It  is  rather  an  interpretation  than  a  record."  —  Chicago  Standard. 

Mahaffy  —  Rambles  and  Studies  in  Greece 

BY  J.  P.  MAHAFFY 

"To  the  intelligent  traveler  and  lover  of  Greece  this  volume  will 
prove  a  most  sympathetic  guide  and  companion." 

Mathews  —  The  Church  and  the  Changing  Order 

.BY  SHAILER  MATHEWS 

"  The  book  throughout  is  characterized  by  good  sense  and  restraint. 
...  A  notable  book  and  one  that  every  Christian  may  read  with 
profit."  —  The  Living  Church. 

Mathews  —  The  Gospel  and  the  Modern  Man 

BY  SHAILER  MATHEWS 
"  A  succinct  statement  of  the  essentials  of  the  New  Testament."  — 

Service. 

Patten — The  Social  Basis  of  Religion 

BY  SIMON  N.  PATTEN 
"  A  work  of  substantial  value  "  —  Continent. 

Peabody  —  The  Approach  to  the  Social  Question 

BY  FRANCIS  GREENWOOD  PEABODY 

"  This  book  is  at  once  the  most  delightful,  persuasive,  and  sagacious 
contribution  to  the  subject."  —  Louisville  Courier- Journal. 

Pierce  —  The  Tariff  and  the  Trusts 

BY  FRANKLIN  PIERCE 

"An  excellent  campaign  document  for  a  non-protectionist."  —  Inde- 
pendent. 

Rauschenbusch  —  Christianity  and  the  Social  Crisis 

BY  WALTER  RAUSCHENBUSCH 

"  It  is  a  book  to  like,  to  learn  from,  and  to  be  charmed  with."  — 
New  York  Times. 

7 


Riis  —  The  Making  of  an  American 

BY  JACOB  RIIS 

"  Its  romance  and  vivid  incident  make  it  as  varied  and  delightful  as 
any  romance."  — Publisher's  Weekly. 

Riis  —  Theodore  Roosevelt,  the  Citizen 

BY  JACOB  Rns 
"A  refreshing  and  stimulating  picture."  — New  York  Tribune. 

Ryan  —  A  Living  Wage ;  Its  Ethical  and  Economic  Aspects 

BY  REV.  J.  A.  RYAN 

"The  most  judicious  and  balanced  discussion  at  the  disposal  of  the 
general  reader."  —  World  To-day. 

St.  Maur  —  A  Self-supporting  Home 

BY  KATE  V.  ST.  MAUR 

"  Each  chapter  is  the  detailed  account  of  all  the  work  necessary  for 
one  month  —  in  the  vegetable  garden,  among  the  small  fruits,  with  the 
fowls,  guineas,  rabbits,  and  in  every  branch  of  husbandry  to  be  met 
with  on  the  small  farm."  —  Louisville  Courier- Journal. 

Sherman  —  What  is  Shakespeare  ? 

BY  L.  A.  SHERMAN 

"  Emphatically  a  work  without  which  the  library  of  the  Shakespeare 
student  will  be  incomplete."  — Daily  Telegram. 

Sidgwick  —  Home  Life  in  Germany 

BY  A.  SIDGWICK 
"A  vivid  picture  of  social  life  and  customs  in  Germany  to-day." 

Smith  —  The  Spirit  of  American  Government 

BY  J.  ALLEN  SMITH 

"Not  since  Bryce's  'American  Commonwealth'  has  a  book  been 
produced  which  deals  so  searchingly  with  American  political  institutions 
and  their  history."  —  New  York  Evening  Telegram. 

Spargo  —  Socialism 

BY  JOHN  SPARGO 

"One  of  the  ablest  expositions  of  Socialism  that  has  ever  been 
written."  —  New  York  Evening  Call. 

8 


Tarbell— History  of  Greek  Art 

BY  T.  B.  TARBELL 

"  A  sympathetic  and  understanding  conception  of  the  golden  age  of 
art." 

Valentine  —  How  to  Keep  Hens  for  Profit 

BY  C.  S.  VALENTINE 

"  Beginners  and  seasoned  poultrymen  will  find  in  it  much  of  value." 
—  Chicago  Tribune. 

Van  Dyke — The  Gospel  for  a  World  of  Sin 

BY  HENRY  VAN  DYKE 

"One  of  the  basic  books  of  true  Christian  thought  of  to-day  and  of 
all  times."  —  Boston  Courier. 

Van  Dyke  —  The  Spirit  of  America 

BY  HENRY  VAN  DYKE 

"  Undoubtedly  the  most  notable  interpretation  in  years  of  the  real 
America.  It  compares  favorably  with  Bryce's  'American  Common- 
wealth.' "  — Philadelphia  Press. 

Veblen  —  The  Theory  of  the  Leisure  Class 

BY  THORSTEIN  B.  VEBLEN 

"The  most  valuable  recent  contribution  to  the  elucidation  of  this 
subject."  —  London  Times. 

Wells  — New  Worlds  for  Old 

BY  H.  G.  WELLS 

"  As  a  presentation  of  Socialistic  thought  as  it  is  working  to-day,  this 
is  the  most  judicious  and  balanced  discussion  at  the  disposal  of  the 
general  reader."  —  World  To-day. 

White  —  The  Old  Order  Changeth 

BY  WILLIAM  ALLEN  WHITE 

"  The  present  status  of  society  in  America.  An  excellent  antidote  to 
the  pessimism  of  modern  writers  on  our  social  system."  —  Baltimore 
Sun. 

9 


THE  MACMILLAN  FICTION  LIBRARY 


A  new  and  important  series  of  some  of  the  best  popular  novels  which 
have  been  published  in  recent  years. 

These  successful  books  are  now  made  available  at  a  popular  price  in 
response  to  the  insistent  demand  for  cheaper  editions. 


Each  volume,  cloth,  12mo,  SO  cents  net;  postage,  10  cents  extra 


Allen  —  A  Kentucky  Cardinal 
BY  JAMES  LANE  ALLEN 

"A  narrative,  told  with  naive  simplicity,  of  how  a  man  who  was 
devoted  to  his  fruits  and  flowers  and  birds  came  to  fall  in  love  with  a 
fair  neighbor."  — New  York  Tribune. 

Allen  —  The  Reign  of  Law        A  Tale  of  the  Kentucky  Hempfields 

BY  JAMES  LANE  ALLEN 

"  Mr.  Allen  has  style  as  original  and  almost  as  perfectly  finished  as 
Hawthorne's.  .  .  .  And  rich  in  the  qualities  that  are  lacking  in  so 
many  novels  of  the  period." — San  Francisco  Chronicle. 

Atherton  —  Patience  Sparhawk 
BY  GERTRUDE  ATHERTON 

"One  of  the  most  interesting  works  of  the  foremost  American 
novelist." 

Child  — Jim  Hands 

BY  RICHARD  WASHBURN  CHILD 

"A  big,  simple,  leisurely  moving  chronicle  of  life.  Commands  the 
profoundest  respect  and  admiration.  Jim  is  a  real  man,  sound  and 
fine." — Daily  News. 

Crawford  —  The  Heart  of  Rome 

BY  MARION  CRAWFORD 
"  A  story  of  underground  mysterie." 

Crawford  —  Fair  Margaret :  A  Portrait 

BY  MARION  CRAWFORD 

"A  story  of  modern  life  in  Italy,  visualizing  the  country  and  its 
people,  and  warm  with  the  red  blood  of  romance  and  melodrama."  — 
Boston  Transcript. 


Davis  —  A  Friend  of  Caesar 

BY  WILLIAM  STEARNS  DAVIS 

"  There  are  many  incidents  so  vivid,  so  brilliant,  that  they  fix  them- 
selves in  the  memory."  —  NANCY  HUSTON  BANKS  in  The  Bookman. 

Drummond  —  The  Justice  of  the  King 

BY  HAMILTON  DRUMMOND 

"  Read  the  story  for  the  sake  of  the  living,  breathing  people,  the  ad- 
ventures, but  most  for  the  sake  of  the  boy  who  served  love  and  the 
King." — Chicago  Record-Herald. 

Elizabeth  and  Her  German  Garden 

"  It  is  full  of  nature  in  many  phases  —  of  breeze  and  sunshine,  of  the 
glory  of  the  land,  and  the  sheer  joy  of  living." — New  York  Times. 

Gale  —  Loves  of  Pelleas  and  Etarre 

BY  ZONA  GALE 

"...  full  of  fresh  feeling  and  grace  of  style,  a  draught  from  the 
fountain  of  youth."  — Outlook. 

Herrick  —  The  Common  Lot 

BY  ROBERT  HERRICK 

"  A  story  of  present-day  life,  intensely  real  in  its  picture  of  a  young 
architect  whose  ideals  in  the  beginning  were,  at  their  highest,  aesthetic 
rather  than  spiritual.  It  is  an  unusual  novel  of  great  interest." 

London  —  Adventure 

BY  JACK  LONDON 

"  No  reader  of  Jack  London's  stories  need  be  told  that  this  abounds 
with  romantic  and  dramatic  incident."  — Los  Angeles  Tribune. 

London  —  Burning  Daylight 

BY  JACK  LONDON 

"Jack  London  has  outdone  himself  in  'Burning  Daylight.'"  —  The 
Springfield  Union. 

Loti  —  Disenchanted 

BY  PIERRE  LOTI 

"  It  gives  a  more  graphic  picture  of  the  life  of  the  rich  Turkish  women 
of  to-day  than  anything  that  has  ever  been  written."  — Brooklyn  Daily 
Eagle. 

ii 


Lucas  —  Mr.  Ingleside 
BY  E.  V.  LUCAS 

"  He  displays  himself  as  an  intellectual  and  amusing  observer  of  life's 
foibles  with  a  hero  characterized  by  inimitable  kindness  and  humor." 
—  The  Independent. 

Mason  —  The  Four  Feathers 

BY  A.  E.  W.  MASON 

"The  Four  Feathers'  is  a  first-rate  story,  with  more  legitimate 
thrills  than  any  novel  we  have  read  in  a  long  time."  — New  York  Press. 

Norris  —  Mother 

BY  KATHLEEN  NORRIS 
"  Worth  its  weight  in  gold."  —  Catholic  Columbian. 

Oxenham  —  The  Long  Road 

BY  JOHN  OXENHAM 

" '  The  Long  Road '  is  a  tragic,  heart-gripping  story  of  Russian  politi- 
cal and  social  conditions."  —  The  Craftsman. 

Pryor  —  The  Colonel's  Story 

BY  MRS.  ROGER  A.  PRYOR 

"  The  story  is  one  in  which  the  spirit  of  the  Old  South  figures  largely ; 
adventure  and  romance  have  their  play  and  carry  the  plot  to  a  satisfy- 
ing end." 

Remington  —  Ermine  of  the  Yellowstone 

BY  JOHN  REMINGTON 

"  A  very  original  and  remarkable  novel  wonderful  in  its  vigor  and 
freshness." 

Roberts  —  Kings  in  Exile 

BY  CHARLES  G.  D.  ROBERTS 

"  The  author  catches  the  spirit  of  forest  and  sea  life,  and  the  reader 
comes  to  have  a  personal  love  and  knowledge  of  our  animal  friends." 
— Boston  Globe. 

Robins  —  The  Convert 

BY  ELIZABETH  ROBINS 

' '  The  Convert '  devotes  itself  to  the  exploitation  of  the  recent  suf- 
fragist movement  in  England.  It  is  a  book  not  easily  forgotten,  by  any 
thoughtful  reader."  — Chicago  Evening  Post. 

12 


Robins  —  A  Dark  Lantern 

BY  ELIZABETH  ROBINS 

A  powerful  and  striking  novel,  English  in  scene,  which  takes  an  essen- 
tially modern  view  of  society  and  of  certain  dramatic  situations. 

Ward  —  David  Grieve 

BY  MRS.  HUMPHREY  WARD 

"  A  perfect  picture  of  life,  remarkable  for  its  humor  and  extraordinary 
success  at  character  analysis." 

Wells  — The  Wheels  of  Chance 

BY  H.  G.  WELLS 

"  Mr.  Wells  is  beyond  question  the  most  plausible  romancer  of  the 
time."  —  The  New  York  Tribune. 


THE  MACMILLAN  JUVENILE  LIBRARY 


This  collection  of  juvenile  books  contains  works  of  standard  quality, 
on  a  variety  of  subjects  —  history,  biography,  fiction,  science,  and  poetry 
—  carefully  chosen  to  meet  the  needs  and  interests  of  both  boys  and 
girls.  

Each  volume,  cloth,  12mo,  50  cents  net;  postage,  10  cents  extra 


Altsheler  —  The  Horsemen  of  the  Plains 

BY  JOSEPH  A.  ALTSHELER 

"  A  story  of  the  West,  of  Indians,  of  scouts,  trappers,  fur  traders,  and, 
in  short,  of  everything  that  is  dear  to  the  imagination  of  a  healthy 
American  boy." — New  York  Sun. 

Bacon  —  While  Caroline  Was  Growing 

BY  JOSEPHINE  DASKAM  BACON 

"  Only  a  genuine  lover  of  children,  and  a  keenly  sympathetic  observer 
of  human  nature,  could  have  given  us  a  book  as  this." — Boston  Herald. 

Carroll  —  Alice's  Adventures,  and  Through  the  Looking  Glass 

BY  LEWIS  CARROLL 
"  One  of  the  immortal  books  for  children." 

Dix  — A  Little  Captive  Lad 

BY  MARIE  BEULAH  Dix 

"The  human  interest  is  strong,  and  children  are  sure  to  like  it."  — 
Washington  Times. 

13 


Greene  —  Pickett's  Gap 

BY  HOMER  GREENE 

"  The  story  presents  a  picture  of  truth  and  honor  that  cannot  fail  to 
have  a  vivid  impression  upon  the  reader."  —  Toledo  Blade. 

Lucas  —  Slowcoach 

BY  E.  V.  LUCAS 

"The  record  of  an  English  family's  coaching  tour  in  a  great  old- 
fashioned  wagon.  A  charming  narrative,  as  quaint  and  original  as  its 

name." — Booknews  Monthly. 

Mabie  —  Book  of  Christmas 

BY  H.  W.  MABIE 

"  A  beautiful  collection  of  Christmas  verse  and  prose  in  which  all  the 
old  favorites  will  be  found  in  an  artistic  setting."  —  The  St.  Louis  Mir- 
ror. 

Major  —  The  Bears  of  Blue  River 

BY  CHARLES  MAJOR 
"  An  exciting  story  with  all  the  thrills  the  title  implies." 

Major  — Uncle  Tom  Andy  BUI 

BY  CHARLES  MAJOR 

"  A  stirring  story  full  of  bears,  Indians,  and  hidden  treasures."  — 
Cleveland  Leader. 

Nesbit  —  The  Railway  Children 

BY  E.  NESBIT 

"A  delightful  story  revealing  the  author's  intimate  knowledge  ot 
juvenile  ways."  —  The  Nation. 

Whyte  — The  Story  Book  Girls 

BY  CHRISTINA  G.  WHYTE 

"A  book  that  all  girls  will  read  with  delight  —  a  sweet,  wholesome 
story  of  girl  life." 

Wright  —  Dream  Fox  Story  Book 
BY  MABEL  OSGOOD  WRIGHT 

"  The  whole  book  is  delicious  with  its  wise  and  kindly  humor,  its  just 
perspective  of  the  true  value  of  things." 

Wright  — Aunt  Jimmy's  Will 

BY  MABEL  OSGOOD  WRIGHT 

"  Barbara  has  written  no  more  delightful  book  than  this." 

14 


•RARY 


271288 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CAUFORIilA,  if PRARY 


